


Coeur d'Ange

by Tennyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barista Castiel, But not intentionally, Canon Divergence, Community: spn_reversebang, Homelessness, Kindnesss of strangers, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pining, SPN REverse Bang, Self-Esteem Issues, a little hurt/comfort, alcohol use, but they talk about it after, cross-dressing Castiel, one instance of canon-based violence, possibly mildly dubcon sexual activity (because drunk), s09e06 fix-it, some transphobic language, trans OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/pseuds/Tennyo
Summary: A fix-it retelling of 9x06 "Heaven Can't Wait", but if Castiel found a different town, and met different people when he arrived.Featuring Castiel as a blond barista, a very supportive Trans boss, and Dean deciding to hang around a while.





	1. Coeur d'Alene

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to the [BEAUTIFUL Diminuel](http://diminuel.tumblr.com/), whose art I was lucky enough to nab!  
> Check out the [ART MASTERPOST HERE](http://silly-blue.livejournal.com/127035.html)  
> Regarding Trans issues:  
> The owner of the cafe is a trans woman, and I tried to make everything as friendly as possible. However, I don't think canon Dean would have ever learned how to properly discuss these topics, and would make some verbal blunders. Don't worry, Castiel corrects him.  
> Also, I decided to not make Castiel trans, because there are people who don't consider themselves trans, or genderfluid, who are perfectly fine with dressing "different."  
> Castiel has been in this body for several years by himself, and my take for this story is that Castiel doesn't mind being "male" and doesn't care about gender roles. However, his time with the Winchesters referring to him as a "he," so that's how he sees himself.
> 
> Also, Castiel has some serious self-esteem issues regarding his family and Dean. So bear with me as we get those sorted.
> 
> As for the town of Coeur d'Alene, all of the homeless resources referenced in this story really existed in 2013. Most of them don't any longer however, and that's sad. Yes, Coeur d'Alene really did develop a reputation among the homeless as the place to go.  
> 

Castiel stirs as the bus weaves its way through the mountains of Montana and Idaho. He smiles at how drastically the scenery has changed since Missoula, the evergreens clinging to the steep sides of peaks. Bus travel has definitely been an adventure, the people surprisingly friendly and helpful. As he enjoys the scenery, a green sign comes into view saying that their next stop, Coeur d’Alene, is 14 miles away. Ah, good. He could use some leg-stretching.

The road flattens out, and a small river opens up into a beautiful, glistening lake to the left of the interstate. Another sign, just before a bridge, announces he’s looking at Lake Coeur d’Alene, and Castiel thinks, if the town is right next to the lake, he might like to stop and admire the view. The water is a lovely, deep blue-green, and Castiel almost pouts when his view is obstructed by terrain. As they enter the city proper, even though the lake can no longer be seen, he can tell it’s there, merely by observing the landscape beyond the trees.

As the bus slows to take the exit, Castiel shifts his feet, and reaches under his seat to slide his bag forward. As soon as the vehicle lurches to a stop at an unremarkable gas station, the driver announces when they will be leaving, and everyone clamors to get off. Castiel is patient, taking an extra moment to assist an older woman down the steps to the pavement.

In the store, waiting for the restrooms to be less crowded, Castiel finds a local map. Pleased that the city is indeed right on the lake, he decides this is as good a place to stop as any, at least for a little while. When the passengers all get back on the bus, only then does Castiel finally enter the restroom to relieve himself as well as wash his face and neck. Purchasing the map, a needed drink, and some snacks, Castiel heads south on 4th street. As the different directions of traffic split, he keeps to his path, facing oncoming traffic and taking in the sights of the local businesses.

Vehicle sales and thrift stores, strips of small shops, liquor stores. Homes line up next to businesses here. The further south he travels, Castiel notices the change in the sidewalks, the age of the trees. He’s getting closer to what is labeled as “downtown.” At the corner of Fourth and Sherman is a red brick establishment with a green awning called the Moose Lounge.

With a small smile, Castiel takes a picture of the stylized moose logo and is halfway to sending it to the Winchesters, when it dawns on him that they probably won’t care to receive anything from him. Mood deflated and an ache in his heart, Castiel turns south once again and doesn’t look up until he comes to the intersection that ends at the parking lot of a lakeside park. The park extends left, so he follows the street towards an adjacent library.

He’s done this before and knows to first look for the homeless resources. With a temporary computer pass, Castiel finds a couple of places he can check out tomorrow. The rest of the day is spent exploring the park, and finding a good place where he can settle for the night atop a wooded hill overlooking the water.

At dawn, Castiel makes his way to a place called Fresh Start which offers resources, breakfast, and showers. There he receives kind words from the staff, the aforementioned meal and shower, as well as a handful of pamphlets before heading back to the library. Along the way he passes a cafe and bakery with a sandwich board sign on the sidewalk, with a message written on it:  

> **_Take a deep breath, pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again - Nat King Cole_ **

It is so inspiring, Castiel decides to stop in for a moment and browse his stack of papers. Inside, Castiel takes in the exposed brick, natural wood, and all the pink upholstery. The scent of coffee and pastries greets him, the atmosphere relaxing. The person behind the counter is wearing a pink shirt with a brown apron, long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Recognizing the Native American heritage from the person’s features and skintone, Castiel approaches the counter.

“Yeah, what can I get you?” The nametag of the man behind the counter’s name reads: “Bernie”.

“Umm,” Castiel looks at the pastries and desserts in the glass display case, feeling a slight pang at the sight of pies. On the wall behind the counter is a board with various drinks and prices. They are all much more than he planned on spending.

With a huff, Bernie takes in the sight of Castiel, the pamphlets clutched in his fist. “When you figure out what you want, let me know.” At that, he goes back to cleaning something behind the counter.

As Castiel is thinking he should just go back to the library, a new customer person enters the establishment, a young man in a suit. He immediately goes to the counter, calling out an order for what Castiel assumes is coffee, but the order involves a combination of words he can’t decipher. Double shot? One pump? But Bernie seems to understand and jumps to the task. Fascinated by the process, Castiel watches from the side as a single drink is made with an interesting machine. He’d seen the Winchesters make coffee before, but it involved paper filters and a much simpler device that featured a glass jug.

With the drink complete and lid snapped in place, it is exchanged for the stated amount of currency. Perhaps, if this coffee requires special equipment, that might explain the high price? The customer turns to leave, taking a sip from his cup. With a grimace, he turns back to the counter.

“Hey, I told you nonfat.”

There’s a brief exchange between the customer and Bernie before the cup is set aside and the process begins anew. When the customer leaves, satisfied with his new drink, Bernie turns to Castiel again.

“You know what you want yet?”

Shoulders slumping, Castiel shakes his head, mumbles an apology, and turns to leave. He should have never come in here; It had been a whim merely because of the motivational message on the sign.

Bernie calls to him, “I’m going to have to throw out that coffee I made, unless you know someone who would drink it.”

There are times when Castiel has been on the receiving end of random acts of kindness. Each time, they surprise him. Turning back to the counter, Castiel pulls some rumpled dollars and coins from his pocket. “How much is it?”

Bernie shrugs and pushes the cup towards him. “Don’t worry about it. Just maybe actually buy something later?”

Accepting the drink with a smile and thanks, Castiel takes a sip. The flavor is strong, and he can taste the steamed milk, as well as the flavored syrup. It’s very good. Looking at the menu again, Castiel selects a biscotti to purchase, one of the cheapest things they offer. This, in turn, makes Bernie smile before going back to cleaning the machine.

Castiel settles at a table near the front window, watching traffic and people pass by. He sorts through the papers available to him and considers his options. While most of the services for homeless here cater to women and children, this town seems well-equipped to handle homeless persons in general. They have temporary housing that reminds Castiel of the motels the Winchesters frequent so often, as well as emergency shelters, the place that offers breakfast, training facilities, and discounts at the thrift stores.

Planning his next step, he hears the phone behind the counter ring. Castiel listens as Bernie argues with whoever is on the other end. Apparently they aren’t coming in today. Hanging up the phone with a curse, Bernie picks it back up and makes another call, letting someone know about the incessant uselessness of a Paula.

Castiel realizes his coffee is finished just as that conversation ends. Knowing it’s rude to loiter, Castiel takes his cup to the trash and glances at Bernie, who seems exceedingly frustrated. Wishing to help he asks, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Elbows on the counter, Bernie lets out a sigh. “Not unless you happen to be a barista.”

“I see. Thank you again for the coffee, and I hope everything works out.”

With a nod, Castiel leaves and explores the town. He finds out about the shelters, and discovers most of the temporary housing is full, and that Coeur d’Alene is apparently well known for being a haven for the homeless. As such, it’s drawn a disproportionately large indigent population. Not wanting to take a shelter bed from someone else who might need it more, Castiel plans on sleeping outdoors again, at least while the weather is nice.

The next day, while chewing on a piece of toast at the drop-in center, Castiel thinks about checking out the job resources available. On the way to the library, he passes by the cafe and notices Bernie taping a help wanted sign to the door, looking for a barista. Once at the library, Castiel uses one of the computers to research baristas. There are a surprising number of how-to videos available. He watches them all.

Castiel is waiting when the doors open at Fresh Start the following morning, rushing through a shower and breakfast before putting on his nicest shirt and walking to the cafe. He greets Bernie and says he’d like to apply for the barista position. With a look of disbelieving surprise, Bernie calls for someone in the back, which turns out to be the kitchen. A statuesque Native American man… no, a woman? steps out from behind the door, dusting flour from their hands onto an apron. They ask what Bernie wants.

“Jolene, this guy wants to apply for the barista job.”

Ah, Jolene is a woman’s name, Castiel is fairly sure. With her husky, contralto voice, she grills Castiel about his qualifications. He admits to not having any experience, but is willing to learn, and has been studying how to actually make a proper shot. With a frown, Jolene turns to look at the clock on the wall, and tells Castiel to come back after five when they close for the day. Profusely thanking her, Castiel shakes her hand, and promises to return at five o’clock exactly.

The rest of the day is spent at the library checking more videos and trying to flesh out his background story. If there’s one thing he’s learned from not only the Winchesters, but his time as a homeless person, it’s that you need a good background story to tell other people. Castiel nervously watches the clock, and shows up at the shop ten minutes before five.

Jolene proceeds to test him on how to grind the beans, as well as loading and tamping the portafilter. She examines Castiel’s extraction with a critical eye, and he’s not sure if the crema is right, it seems to come out a little dark. Castiel swallows, and clamps his sweating hands behind his back as she examines the small cup of brown liquid. With a frown, she pours it down the drain.

“Do it again.”

He does, four more times, with no indication from her if he’s getting better or worse. With the last extraction, she tells him to make a cappuccino with it. After fumbling with the steamer, he tries three times before she allows him to pour the milk into the now cooling espresso. The top isn’t pretty like he saw in the videos, but he hopes it tastes alright. Placing the drink in front of Jolene, he awaits her verdict.

She picks it up, sniffs at it, takes the tiniest of sips. Setting the cup down on the counter, she looks into Castiel’s eyes. “You’ve never done this before?”

“No.”

“And you learned how to do this on the internet?”

“Yes.”

There’s a lump in his throat, and he knows he’s failed. It’s not good enough, he’s not good enough.

“Drink it.”

Wait, what? “Excuse me?” Castiel asks.

“Steve, drink your cappuccino,” she orders, sliding the cup towards Castiel.

He’s nervous, hands shaking as he picks up the cup. The coffee smells alright, at least. When he takes a sip, he’s expecting bitter, or sour, for the milk to taste scalded… but it’s actually good. Surprised, Castiel takes another sip.

Jolene’s face transforms with a bright smile. “How are you in the kitchen?”

And that is how Castiel gets his first official paying job.

~~~

While not perfect, what Castiel lacks in skill he makes up for with enthusiasm. He’s only a trainee to start, but he shows up diligently at 4 a.m. every day he’s scheduled to help with prep. It’s too early for a shower at Fresh Start, but there is a 24-hour gas station nearby where he can tidy up. He can use the shelter’s showers when necessary, at least until he’s saved up enough to find a place to live.

Working hard, Castiel’s days at the cafe are spent proving himself to be valuable, needed. Soon, he’s making drinks as well as Bernie, who’s been working behind the counter for over two years, and is Jolene’s cousin. He gets to know his co-workers. There’s another part-timer, a young man named Isaac, who isn’t the best at making coffee, but he attracts the girls in the afternoon. When Jolene realizes that Castiel will not judge her for refusing to adhere to the human culture surrounding gender roles, she warms up to him. But it’s not as if he can explain that having been an angel gives him a more fluid perspective of male and female, regardless of what sex one has been born with.

He learns the names of the regulars, their preferred daily orders, and when they usually come in. He learns that some of the old pastries get sent to Fresh Start in the mornings, for the homeless. It’s his proudest moment when Jolene hands him a key and tells him to lock up for the evening.

In the kitchen, he learns to make pastries. One early morning, after a night full of disturbing dreams on the hard ground, Castiel comes in early and has fresh muffins waiting for Jolene when she comes in. “Sweetheart, where have you been all my life?” she mumbles around a bite of banana nut muffin. He doesn’t have an answer for her but he blushes under her praise.

~~~~~

It’s late afternoon and the sun is shining brightly on a beautiful, mid-June day. Castiel is washing the windows when he first spots them. A group of people wearing business attire. Normally he wouldn’t even think twice about it, but he recognizes the stiffness of their shoulders, the steadiness of their gaits. Angels.

The bottle of window cleaner slips from his hand and bounces off the floor.

Jolene finds him a few minutes later, hyperventilating in the bathroom. Castiel jumps when he feels her palm between his shoulderblades, telling him to take slow breaths. Even before, when he was newly human, struggling to survive and not be found by other angels, he’d never felt this level of sheer panic. Did they find him? Is it merely coincidence? After he is finally breathing normally, she asks him what all that was about. Of course, he tries to pass it off as nothing, and she seems to accept it although she gives him a sideways look.

“How about you go finish the cookies I have rolled out in the kitchen, and I’ll watch the counter for the rest of the afternoon?”

Head hanging in shame, Castiel agrees. He spends the rest of the work day finishing the sandwich cookies she had started and cleans up. After five o’clock rolls around and the shop is closed, Castiel loiters at the stainless steel work table, wiping it down over and over with a bar cloth. The door opens and Jolene comes in, carrying a cup.

 _This is it_ , he thinks. She’s going to tell him to leave now. Because that’s what happens, he has to leave. Always.  

Setting the cup near Castiel, Jolene pulls up a stool and sits across from him. “I made that for you, seen you fix it for yourself before.”

Curious, Castiel picks up the cup and takes a tentative sip. Green tea with honey. “Thank you,” he says, looking down at the lid. Jolene’s been so kind. He will hate having to move on from this place. But at least he has a viable skill now.

“Steve?”

The false name lands on him like a blow, and he flinches.

“Honey, you have to tell me what’s wrong so I can help.” Her tone is soothing, like he’s a skittish animal.

Perhaps he is, ready to bolt out of this town and not look back, in fear that he’ll see his family chasing him. “I apologize, this is the first time something like that has ever happened.”

Jolene places a hand on his wrist. “You don’t have to tell me, but I’m here to listen and help if you feel like you can.”

 _How_ did he manage to find a place like this? _How_ can she be so kind and understanding? Castiel figures he was going to run anyway, so why not tell her? Not the full truth, of course, but a half-truth, edited enough so she doesn’t call the mental health professionals. He tells her there are people after him, people he once considered family, who wish him harm.

Looking up at Jolene, he says, “I understand if you wish me to leave. Your safely and livelihood is more important than my employment here.”

“Steve, where have you been sleeping up until now?”

The question throws him. It’s entirely out of nowhere, and it leaves him disoriented. “What?”

Jolene leans back and crosses her arms, giving him a level stare. “You come in here with clean but worn clothing, a flimsy background, and no proper I.D. asking for a job. Bernie told me about the coffee he gave you a couple days before that. We’re used to seeing desperation and homelessness around here. We’re also people who believe in giving someone a chance, if our guts tell us they deserve it.” She points at him. “Do you know what our guts told us about you?”

Stunned, Castiel shakes his head.

“We could tell you weren’t the typical transient wandering through town. A little socially inept, but smart enough to pick up how to work the espresso machine in what, two days? Off the internet? That’s something that is usually taught with a minimum two week course.” She stands up and goes to where Castiel stored the sandwich cookies, grabbing a couple. “Do you know how many people I actually let use this kitchen, let alone bake unsupervised?”

Castiel feels stupid when all he can do is shake his head again.

Jolene holds one cookie for Castiel, and takes a bite of the other one when he takes it from her. “Everyone has their shitty pasts. It’s how you let them define you that matters.” Dusting her hands off on her pants, she asks, “Do you take drugs, sell drugs, or make drugs?”

He finally finds his voice. “No.”

“Are you an axe murderer, serial killer, or child molester?”

“No.”

“Do you mean harm to me or mine, the property, or our customers?”

“Never.”

“Then let me show you something, and we’ll come to an understanding.” She leads him to a storage room near the back door. It’s narrow, with only a small textured window for lighting, a bare bulb fixture in the ceiling. “If you want, this can be your room.”

 _What_? Castiel doesn’t understand. He says so.

“There’s just something about you, Steve. And yes, I can tell that’s not your real name. We all have our reasons, but as long as you don’t screw me over and you are truthful, I’m offering to help you get back on your feet.”

He doesn’t know what to say, and stands there, staring at the dusty room with its stacked boxes of napkins and coffee cups. Jolene pats him on the shoulder. “It’s customary to say thanks at the least, you know.”

“I—” Castiel chokes up and can’t finish, overcome with emotion. Thankfully, Jolene seems to understand.

“I’ll need to update your alarm code so you can set the perimeter alarm but not the interior. Oh, and just in case, if you ever _do_ screw me over, I know a medicine woman who can and _will_ curse you.”

Desperately trying to swallow around the lump in his throat, Castiel blinks at her with watery eyes, until she pulls him into a hug. She whispers in his ear, “I’ll be in at 4 with something else for you.”

~~~

At 4 a.m. as promised, Jolene arrives with her arms full of bags and boxes. She hands a cylindrical box over to Castiel and he holds it by the handle, staring at it blankly. “What am I supposed to do with this?” he asks.

“That’s going to be part of your new identity. Open it up, I want to see how it fits.”

Unzipping the case reveals a blond wig on a styrofoam head. Castiel lifts the head out of the case, and inspects the long layers. “I’m supposed to wear this?”

Jolene shows him how to put on the wig cap, and how to make sure the wig stays in place. He’s already wearing his pink shirt and brown apron, so she steps back and takes a good look at him. ”We’ll need to make sure you stay clean shaven since your hair’s so dark, but I think you look good.”

“Will you remind me why we’re doing this?” asks Castiel while he tucks some hair behind his ear while looking at himself with a hand mirror.

“Because you have people after you! If they come in, they might not even notice that it’s you. Now, we need a new name.”

“Why?” Castiel lowers the mirror. She already knows Steve isn’t his real name.

“Because everyone knows you as Steve.” Jolene grabs him by the shoulders and has him face her. “Do you think I was born with the name Jolene?”

He’d actually never thought about it before. “I suppose not?”

“Right. Because while I may be a woman now, I was born a man, and my name was Joseph.”

No stranger to changing gender due to different vessels, Castiel only nods, which makes Jolene smile and squeeze his cheeks. “You are a precious peach. Anyway, everyone around here is used to me as Jolene the woman. When they see you in the wig, they’ll expect that’s what you’re doing, too.”

“Oh.” Castiel lifts the mirror again, taking another look at his face, how his features do seem softened by the hairstyle. “And so I’ll need a more appropriate name.”

“Exactly.”

They make their way to the cafe counter and while Castiel makes them coffees, Jolene ponders names. “We can’t have something too girly. Do you have any sisters?”

Castiel frowns down at the cup collecting espresso. “Several.”

“Then we don’t want to have your name sound too much like one of them. Hmmm…” Jolene taps at her phone. “What about Robin?”

Castiel doesn’t care, so he shrugs while the milk is steaming.

Sounding out a couple other names, Jolene keeps doing something on her phone. “Ah, I got it!”

“Hmm?” Castiel hands her a latte.

“Remember that Russian lady that keeps coming in here and trying to talk to you?”

As a matter of fact, he does. He also tries to pretend like he doesn’t understand her, because if he started conversing with multiple customers in their native languages, he’d have to explain how he can do that. He just nods and hums as he prepares his own cappuccino.

“You kind of have Eastern European type features, so how about… Misha?”

That name sounds familiar, something about an alternate universe. “Misha.”

“Yeah, it can be either a male or female name. Do you like it?”

Castiel settles on a stool and sips at the foam of his drink. Something about the name seems fitting. “I think I do.”

His first day wearing the wig is a challenge. It sits tightly on his head, but he’s not allowed to move it around. Even when his head starts to itch. The fringe keeps hanging in his eyes, and he fights with it. But he has a brand new tag with his new name pinned to his apron, and the disguise does give him a feeling of security he didn’t have yesterday afternoon. Maybe he won’t need to run away. Stability is something Castiel desperately needs in his life, and with Jolene’s support, maybe that could be possible here.

As soon as Castiel has adjusted to wearing the wig, Jolene introduces him to makeup. He’s not particularly enthusiastic about adding the process of applying it to his morning routine, but does it to humor her. Most days it’s nothing more than some lip gloss, a little eyeliner, maybe some blush. Interestingly enough, it seems to increase his self esteem, so he keeps up with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if you feel I missed a tag, please let me know!
> 
> Moose Lounge is really a thing!  
> 


	2. Rit-Zien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used much of the original dialogue for some scenes, altered for the circumstances.

On a day in early July, just after Independence Day, Castiel and Bernie are relaxing during a lull in customer traffic. Someone left behind a local newspaper on a table earlier, and Castiel is looking through it while putting it back in order. An article about a missing man catches his eye. As he reads it, he grows increasingly bothered by the circumstances surrounding the incident and a couple of similar incidents mentioned.

The Winchesters need to know about this, he thinks. But will either of them be willing to hear from him? Sam didn’t even see him off when he left the Bunker, and he hasn’t spoken with Dean since then. He takes his time finishing his reorganization of the newspaper while he thinks of how to contact them. Dean seems like the one to contact. But should he call? What if they’re on a case? What if Dean doesn’t answer? That might be best, since actually speaking with Dean right now might be too much. But he would still like to hear Dean’s voice.

Torn, Castiel procrastinates until after closing, and calls while he’s cleaning the espresso machine. Dean answers fairly quickly, and Castiel immediately starts talking about the case. But Dean seems… unfocused. He asks how Castiel is doing. Thankfully, his hands are occupied with the machine, so he says he’s busy. But then Dean wants to know how he wants to meet.

What? Castiel wasn’t planning for that! Distracted, he knocks over a tub of soapy water, soaking all down his front. Not sure how to respond, Castiel stumbles out that he’s busy, and that he thought Dean should know about the case before disconnecting the call.

There’s a streak of sudsy moisture across the phone’s screen, on the end button. Castiel blinks at it for a moment before grabbing a towel to wipe it off. Bernie pokes his head out of the kitchen door and brings a mop for the water on the floor. Excusing himself, Castiel goes to his room to change out of his wet clothes. As for Dean, well… he hasn’t called back yet, and doesn’t know where Castiel is, so maybe he’ll deal with the case and move on. It hurts a bit to think that they’ll be in the same town briefly and never meet.

~~~

Castiel puts the final touches on the foam-art cat face the young woman asked for on her latte. He’s getting better, and it actually looks like a cat, with whiskers and everything. She takes the mug with a smile, and two muffins, joining her friend at a table. Smiling, Castiel watches her go, then turns to the next customer to see… Dean.

Dean Winchester, at the counter near the door, frowning and flicking at a bag gourmet coffee with his fingers. Suddenly, Castiel’s head itches, and he tries to not swipe the blond fringe out of his eyes. Heart pounding in his ears, he can’t look away as Dean’s eyes slowly travel up to meet his. There’s a moment of confusion, then incredulity, and then something unreadable.

Knowing he shouldn’t be staring, Castiel struggles to keep the mask of his new persona in place. He cracks a smile and says in his sweetest voice, “W-what can I get for you?” Ahh, only a little bit of a stammer, but Dean notices.

With one side of his mouth pulling into a smirk, Dean’s eyes scan the menu board. “You got plain drip coffee?”

“Yes, we do.”

Dean nods, and leans back to peruse the pastry case. “What kind of pie?”

Of course Dean wants pie. Luckily, they have a couple seasonal varieties. Dean settles on the mixed berry, with a large black drip coffee. He also keeps trying to catch Castiel’s eye, which Castiel is trying to avoid by hiding behind the fringe of his increasingly itchy wig. He’s afraid of what Dean will see in him. Finally, Dean pays and goes to sit by the window, still watching Castiel as he eats.

Why, _why_ did Dean actually have to come here of all places? The cafe isn’t near the incident. Castiel hadn’t told him anything about where to find him, or that he desired being found. Glancing up, he catches Dean’s profile as he looks out the window, coffee mid-sip. A pain in his chest surfaces, one he thought had been abandoned with his acceptance of being alone.

Dean’s presence is a siren call, and his body feels the pull, but he resists the urge. Distracting himself with cleaning behind the counter, checking the beans, he does anything to avoid the man in the green coat by the window, now making obscene noises over his pie. It doesn’t seem like Dean is in any kind of hurry, so Castiel relents, and asks for a 15 minute break before going to stand at Dean’s table, watching him take another sip of coffee.

He looks good. Tired, but good. Castiel balls his hands into fists behind his back, to keep from reaching out to touch. Dean’s eyes land on Castiel’s name tag, and his mouth forms a distasteful pout.

“ _Misha_? Really?” The words are too loud, and Castiel glances around. The young woman and her friend are on the other side of the dining area, but it’s small. Thankfully, they’re not looking.

“Dean, please,” Castiel hisses through clenched teeth, “Don’t make it difficult for me here.”

With a shrug, Dean leans back in his chair. “Fine.”

Castiel stands there a moment, debating his options. He can stand here, looming over Dean until he explains himself, Jolene watching from behind the counter, or he can sit and act amicable. Pulling out and sitting in a chair across from Dean, Castiel asks, “What are you doing here?”

Dean gives him a flat look. “You called me, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but…” Castiel sighs. “Why are you _here_?” He makes a small waving gesture with one hand to indicate the cafe.

Leaning back in his seat, Dean brings his coffee to his lips. “Eating pie and having coffee.”

“Dean.” Exasperated, Castiel crosses his arms and frowns.

Dean sets down his cup. “I’m here,” he leans on his elbows, curving forward, voice low. “Because I wanted to see how you were doing, make sure you’re OK.”

This releases some of the tension Castiel was feeling, and he relaxes his shoulders. “I’m fine.”

Another bite of pie gets shoveled into Dean’s mouth before he says, “Yeah, I can see that.”

He swallows and asks, “So… what’s up with the wig? You look like you’re dressed like a chick.”

Frowning at Dean’s word choice, Castiel quietly explains having seen angels in town a couple weeks ago, and how his boss Jolene helped him change his image.

“Angels? Why didn’t you call me then?”

“They left without incident, it seemed best to not bother you unless there was something important.”

Dean’s lips press into a thin line, obviously in disapproval, and Castiel tries to not notice the dimples that form with the expression. Before Dean can reply, Jolene comes over to their table.

“Hey, sweetie, everything OK?” Jolene glances at Dean and raises an eyebrow. She’s concerned, and Castiel can’t blame her considering what she’s been told.

“Jolene, this is my friend Dean. Dean, this is Jolene, my boss and the owner of this cafe.”

She looks down her nose at Dean, and doesn’t offer her hand. “Mmm-hmm. Misha,” She locks eyes with Castiel. “Isaac’s going to watch the front when you get off break, so you can help with the prep. See you in five?”

He knows she’s concerned, and is going to use this as an excuse to pry. “Sure, I’ll meet you there.”

With a nod of her head, she completely ignores Dean as she makes her way back behind the counter. Dean’s watching her, and Castiel catches him whispering something about “Dudes dressing like chicks around here.” Castiel’s glad that it was whispered, and everyone else was out of earshot. If Dean’s going to spend any more time around the cafe, Castiel will have to warn him to tone down the transphobic language.

Suddenly feeling tired, Castiel stands. “Is there anything else, Dean?”

Dean blinks up at him in surprise. “You’re not gonna help me?”

“I have work to do.” As tempting as it is to drop everything and go help Dean, Castiel has responsibilities. And besides, being kicked out of the Bunker still stings a bit. “If I discover anything new, I’ll call or text.”

It takes all of Castiel’s willpower to turn away from Dean and walk behind the counter, only glancing back when he reaches the door to the kitchen. Dean stands there, mouth slightly agape, before he collects his pie plate and coffee cup, dropping them off in the bin before squaring his jaw and breezing out the door with a wave. With a deep sigh, Castiel closes his eyes, and tries to ignore the pain in his chest before he pushes into the kitchen to deal with Jolene.

In the kitchen, Jolene tries to pump him for information, but all Castiel will tell her is that Dean is a friend, and that he’s in town on business. “I saw the way you looked at him, he’s more than just a _friend_.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, exes always are. Oh, hon. Your heart’s still attached to him, isn’t it?”

Castiel denies it, but she seems to see more there, and refuses to believe otherwise and comforts him with that assumption.

~~~

Castiel goes about his next day as usual, trying to ignore that not only is Dean in town, but that there’s something killing people. He’s human now, and useless. Why would Dean ask him to help?

They’ve just finished the lunch rush when he notices Dean parked across the street, leaning on the roof of the Impala, his cell phone in hand. Pretending he doesn’t see him, Castiel finishes adding the flavored syrup to the current order and smiles at the customer, handing over the cup. _Just remember you’re **Misha** here_, he tells himself. _You are liked and accepted by the community, and Jolene wouldn’t kick you out unless you did something to lose her trust._

Turning to the next customer, he recognizes her as a regular. “You usually don’t come this late, Suzie. Is something wrong?”

She shrugs, mouth pulling into a frown, drawing the age-lines on her round face deeper. “Just a project that’s kicking my butt at work. I need some fortification.”

With a nod, Castiel picks up a pen. “Are we talking half-caf, or double shot fortification?”

While Suzie bemoans the lack of actual alcoholic add-ins at the cafe, Castiel sees the door open, and that familiar green jacket that Dean was wearing yesterday. He proceeds to ignore Dean as he rings in the order and makes the half-caf Americano with a shot each of chocolate and Irish Cream flavor. Handing it over to Suzie, he gives her a wink and a thumb’s up. “Good luck!”

She salutes him with the drink and leaves, revealing Dean waiting patiently with that damn smirk on his face again.

“So… If I wanted one of those frou-frou drinks, what would you suggest?”

Glancing around the cafe to see it’s currently empty, Castiel drops his persona and scowls at Dean. “Why are you here again?”

Dean blinks at him. “Gee, nice to see you too, Cas.”

Castiel leans forward, gesturing at his nametag. “It’s Misha now,” he hisses.

“Yeah, I still can’t get past that this is how you chose to lay low from the other angels,” Dean raises an eyebrow, “It’s some cover.”

“Do you want something to eat or drink?” Castiel asks, his tone cold. _I will not let him affect me, I won’t._

“Uh, yeah…” Dean takes a step back, a look of surprise on his face. “Regular coffee and another slice of pie?”

While Castiel is sliding a slice of cherry pie onto a plate, Jolene sticks her head out of the kitchen. “Hey, Mish?” She sees Dean and gives him the stinkeye. “I need to go to the store and pick up some supplies, but if you need me to wait…”

“I’m good,” he replies, sliding the plate onto the counter and grabbing a to-go cup for Dean’s coffee. “If you go now you might make it back before afternoon traffic gets bad.”

When the door closes behind her, Castiel lets out a deep sigh. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been? Falling to Earth, losing my Grace, I… had nothing.”

_You can’t stay._

He straightens his spine, and places Dean’s coffee on the counter, slipping back into his Misha persona with a smile. “I’m a barista now.”  

“Barista,” Dean scoffs, as the door opens and someone comes in with a handful of fliers, asking if the cafe will post one in their window. Castiel says he’s willing to take one now, and ask Jolene if it’s okay. He sees them off with a smile before turning back to Dean.

“I have responsibilities here. Serving customers, maintaining the equipment and facilities, I’m even learning how to bake,” he says with a touch of pride. He’s worked hard to adapt to his new humanity.

“Wow. So you’ve gone from Heavenly warrior, to… glorified coffee brewer.”

The smile slips off Castiel’s face, and he leans against the counter. “ _Barista_.”

They stand with a heavy silence between them for a moment before Castiel straightens up, work persona back in place. “That will be $6.34 for your coffee and pie.”

After Dean pays, Castiel decides he needs to stay busy in order to keep his mind off of the man. He pulls out a box full of sample-sized gourmet coffee, and goes around the other side of the counter to restock the basket they use for display. Dean has taken a seat near the back of the cafe, and Castiel can feel him watching as he goes about wiping down tables, refilling napkin holders, and topping off the bean hopper of the grinder.

Another customer comes in, ordering a flavored iced tea and chocolate cookie to go. Dean places his pie plate in the bus-bin, and leans against the counter on his elbows. It makes him look vulnerable, and Castiel wonders if Dean is trying to manipulate him. ‘ _You can’t stay’_ echoes in his head.

“This isn’t you, man. Help me out, you’re above all this.”

“No Dean, I’m not.” Frustrated, Castiel throws down the cleaning towel in his hands. “I failed as an angel. Everything I did came out wrong. Since arriving here, I finally feel like I have a chance at getting things right.” He notices Dean’s eyes widen in surprise, his mouth part as if to speak. He doesn’t want to hear what Dean has to say. “Maybe you don’t understand, but… there’s a real human dignity in what I’m doing here.”

Just then, Dean’s phone rings, and he stands up and faces away to answer. “This is Agent Lee Ermey.” There’s a long pause, and Castiel can see Dean’s shoulders tighten. There must have been another incident. “Thank you for calling. I’ll be right there.”

Dean disconnects the call and turns around. “There was another kill, at a high school.”

“Then you should go.” _Why_ is Dean trying so hard?

“What’s it going to take to get you to come with me?”

“Why? I don’t have powers, I’d be useless.” And that’s a bitter reality.

“Dude, _I_ don’t have powers.” Dean says in a cajoling tone.

“Yes, and you’re a hunter.”

“Well, you’re a hunter in training.”

Oh, really? He’s trying to use that? “I remember. You said I sucked.”

There’s a sense of satisfaction as Dean is taken aback by his own words. “I— I didn’t say _that_ , I said, um… that there was, uhh, you know, _room for improvement_.” He’s acting sheepish. Dean. _Sheepish_.

“Fine.” Castiel is done arguing. “There’s someone coming in ten minutes, and I’ll see if they’ll cover for me.”

Dean’s face breaks out into a brilliant grin, and Castiel wants to bask in it. There are times that Castiel wishes he could tell what goes on inside Dean’s mind, because the man is thoroughly confusing.

“Oh, and I have to wait for Jolene to get back, too.”

“Cool, I’ll just go wait in the car.”

It’s surprisingly easy to get Jolene to agree to let Castiel off early when he explains that Dean needs his assistance with something.

“Just be careful,” is all she says as she pats his cheek and turns back to putting away supplies.

Riding in Dean’s car feels different now, and Castiel sits primly in the passenger seat, hands on his thighs. Dean keeps glancing at him as they head to the north part of town. At a red light Dean finally turns to face him. “Dude, are you gonna wear the wig to a crime scene?”

Castiel blinks at him. “Why not?”

“Because— Look, you have this new life as ‘Misha,” right?” The light turns green, and Dean keeps talking as he accelerates. “Don’t you think they’ll find it weird that a _barista_ is helping me investigate?” He waves his hand at Castiel’s apron and pink shirt.

 _But you asked me for help_ , Castiel thinks but doesn’t say. He looks down at his apron, the blond fringe of the wig falling over his eyes. “I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” he says, glancing up at Dean, who turns to look at him with another of those dazzling grins.

“I can help you with that.”

After a quick stop to carefully remove his wig and change shirts, Castiel and Dean arrive at North Coeur d’Alene High School. Castiel finds it fascinating that it’s so close to the Sheriff’s station and Juvenile Detention Center. He also notices Dean’s tension increase as they pass. Ahh, he thinks he understands now. Dean needed assistance because he’s nervous being this close to so much law enforcement.

Where the incident took place isn’t difficult to find, with an area by the yellow buses cordoned off, and law enforcement at the scene. There’s even someone in a hazmat suit. They get out of the car, and Dean instructs Castiel to follow his lead. Dressed in a white shirt and tie, Castiel smooths his hand down the green and blue striped polyester that Dean had tied at his throat.

“Just like old times, huh?” Dean gives him a half smile, and that close, it’s all Castiel can do to keep from blushing under his gaze. _You can’t stay, You can’t stay, You can’t stay i_ s a constant chant in his mind as Castiel tries to remember he’s merely here to support Dean.

Dean leans forward before they continue on, and asks, “Are you wearing _makeup_?”

Castiel had actually gone fairly light today, only wearing some contouring highlighter and tinted lip balm. “Is there a problem with that?” he says, raising an eyebrow

“Nah, just… surprised me is all.” Dean coughs and pulls up the waistband of his trousers. “Let’s do this.”

They arrive at the taped off area, and Dean flashes a badge, which grants them access. As they make their way to the other side of the bus, Castiel stops in his tracks and takes in the sight of the pink spray covering the side of the bus and ground. _Oh no._ He recognizes what this is, and is horrified.

It takes all his concentration to pay attention to Dean interviewing the witness, a student who explains that she was talking on the phone with the victim, who had stopped speaking right before the grisly spatter had occurred. Nobody had seen anything, and Dean asks if the girl had been upset or depressed. Castiel swallows back a comment, knowing what happened, and it’s confirmed that the girl hadn’t been depressed, although she had recently lost a favored pet, and that her parents were in the middle of a divorce.

While the girl grieves for her lost friend, Dean attempts to console her. Castiel can’t breathe. He needs to get away from the scene, needs to be able to not smell the remains of the poor girl.

“Excuse me,” he manages to choke out as he makes his way back to the Impala, loosens his tie, and leans on the bumper with his hands, head bowed, catching his breath and shaking. This shouldn’t be possible, he thinks. Can they track me somehow? Why do they keep showing up near me?

“Cas?” Dean’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

After another deep breath, he turns to face Dean. “I’ve seen this before.”

“Where? In Heaven? Is it an angel doing this?”

Castiel wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. “This is no ordinary angel, Dean. This is very, very bad.”

They get into the car, and he explains the Rit-Zien to Dean, about their role in either healing or easing suffering on the angelic battlefield. Dean doesn’t get why the angel is vaping people who aren’t dying, and Castiel struggles to explain how the way pain is experienced within humanity is so different from angels.

“Right. Well, we need to stop this guy.”

Castiel feels like the pounding of his heart should be audible by now. “ _You_ need to stop them.”

The car grows quiet, the sound of his heartbeat still pulsing in his ears. The people processing the crime scene can be seen milling about outside.

“You’re scared,” Dean says, almost accusatory.

Yes, Castiel’s scared. What else should he be? “Everything’s different now, Dean. It all feels different.”

He can almost feel the disappointment Dean is aiming at him, but he doesn’t turn to look, just focuses on the people cleaning up the pink spray, all that remains of an innocent, helpless girl. What could Castiel possibly do to stop any of this?

“Yeah, you’re right.” Dean’s tone is firm. “Right. I’ll track down the Kevorkian angel, and put him down. By myself.”

Castiel sighs and mumbles, “Okay.”

“You go live your normal life, make coffee, bake pies and cookies and whatever. Stay safe.”

And there’s the accusation in his voice Castiel was expecting. _Useless_. He nods, and Dean starts the car. They sit there a moment, the engine rumbling. He’s beginning to wonder why they haven’t left yet, until Dean says, “Well?”

Oh. Is he expected to get out? Walk all the way back to the cafe? Is Dean abandoning him yet again, now that he serves no purpose? “I need a ride,” he whispers.

There’s a moment of shock when Dean _smiles_ at him and nods. “Right.” Putting the car into drive, Dean pulls out of the school’s parking lot. “Where to, Cas?”

Unsure where else to go, Castiel directs him to the private parking spot at the back of the cafe. When Dean pulls up behind the building, he asks, “Wait, but isn’t it closed now?”

“Yes, but I usually eat dinner and go to sleep early so I can help open the cafe.”

After processing that information, Dean asks, “Wait, you _live_ here?”

Castiel gets out of the car, and collects his things from the back seat. Out of habit, he pulls the blond wig back onto his head with practiced ease. He’s surprised that Dean turns off the engine and gets out of the car as well. Knowing he’s probably in for a lecture, Castiel invites Dean inside. After disabling the alarm, he lets Dean in and locks the back door. As he heads through the back hall, he tells Dean about the arrangement, that he has a room in the back, and how he’s allowed to use the kitchen.

“I’ve learned how to make a variety of things, and could cook, if you’re hungry.” He’s nervous, and expects Dean to leave. The fact that they’re standing together in the kitchen after hours has Castiel feeling strangely light headed.

Wide-eyed and excited, Dean looks around at all the stainless steel. “You mean you can make something other than desserts and muffins?”

Other than pie, what’s something Dean would enjoy that he has the ingredients for? He’s out of ground beef, so burgers are out. Hmm, he might be able to…

“I can make pizza, if that interests you.” Castiel recalls many hotel rooms the brothers have shared, pizza boxes stacked by the trash.

“Dude, yes!” With a wide grin on his face, Dean rubs his hands together. “I’ll go get the beer and be right back!”

As soon as Castiel hears the back door close, he sags against the work table. Why is Dean here? And by here, he means going down the street to get beer to go with the pizza that Castiel is now going to make for them to _share_?

_You can’t stay_

He’s tried so hard to leave his feelings in the past…

_You can’t stay_

But when Dean _smiles_ at him that way…

_You can’t stay_

A lump in his throat, Castiel closes his eyes and takes deep breaths. It’s just a meal. Dean doesn’t often get to eat something other than fast food, so that’s all this is. As soon as the Rit-Zien is dealt with, Dean will leave, and everything will go back to the way things were.

Wiping away the beginnings of tears at the corners of his eyes, Castiel carefully changes back into his pink shirt and apron, setting aside the shirt and tie that Dean loaned him; then he grabs the things he’ll need to make the pizza crust. He remembers the sandwiches he made for the brothers Winchester before the attack on Roman Enterprises. Unfortunately, he also remembers spending a year in Purgatory, and Dean’s attempt to pull him out. _No_ , he has to stop thinking about these things.

There’s a stereo perched on a high shelf, and Castiel switches it on lo listen to one of the local stations that plays an assortment of all kinds of music. Something bright and fast-paced is playing, and he starts preparing the dough. The song ends, and another one starts, much slower in tempo. He’s fine with it, until the chorus starts. 

> _Every time you go away, you take a piece of me with you._

Dammit. He’d understood the purpose of song as an angel, the way it would uplift and connect, the way they would raise their voices in praise or exaltation. But humanity… While there are lovely musical pieces that do the same thing, there seems to be a genre that is entirely for the purpose of making one wallow in emotional pain. Why would someone wish to torture themselves this way? Perhaps there is a form of catharsis to be had in wallowing in these painful emotions, but Dean will be back soon, and Castiel just cannot handle it right now.

As he turns the radio off, he hears the sound of the back door. Ah, speaking of. He goes to the refrigerator in search of toppings for their pizza. The kitchen door opens, and Castiel grabs a bag of shredded cheese.

“Ah, Dean, I could use a hand with—” He looks up to see someone not Dean standing at the entrance. In spite of no longer having any angel powers, he recognizes who is behind the stranger’s face. “Ephraim?”

“Hello, Castiel. I’m surprised you remember me. I was nobody, but you — You were a legend.” Ephraim looks around the kitchen, scuffs his feet on a no-slip mat, grazes his fingers along a counter. “This is my first time in a human body. It’s… intense.”

“Exactly.” Castiel needs to keep him talking, wait for Dean to come back. “You know there is much about humanity you don’t understand. If you would just stop—”

“Stop?” Ephraim huffs. “Not until I wash this planet of all suffering.” He makes his way towards Castiel, who keeps the work table between them. “So many voices begging for relief from pain and despair.”

 _How long does it take Dean to find beer?_ Castiel wonders. He sees the row of knives attached to a magnetic strip along one wall. None of them will do much to an angel, but maybe…

For now, keep Ephraim talking. “How’d you find me?” Castiel asks.

“Oh, because of the warding?” Ephraim stops, and tilts his head at Castiel. “The same way I find all my patients. Just by following the sound of your pain.” He closes his eyes. “It’s so loud, I could hear you for _miles_.” There’s a paring knife on the counter, and Castiel takes the opportunity to palm it.

Castiel was afraid of that. He keeps talking, keeps Ephraim talking until he can figure out a plan. Ephraim honestly thinks what he’s doing is the right thing. He doesn’t understand the complexity of human emotion.

With the paring knife behind his back, Castiel slices open his palm and backs up against the refrigerator. With the image of a banishing symbol in his mind, he begins blindly tracing one with blood. He hopes it’s enough to work.

“These humans, They can get better. We’re just doing the best we can.”

Ephraim slowly stalks toward him from the far end of the table. Just a little bit more… It’s getting difficult to tell if he’s actually drawing anything properly in blood.

“Do you honestly think that's what you’re doing? The best you can?” Ephraim shakes his head. To think I used to admire you, the famed Castiel. You’ve failed so often, but at least you played big.”

He looks down, and Castiel dares a glance to see there’s blood dripping on the floor. Dammit. Ephraim rushes him then, grabbing his hand to prevent finishing the sigil. Castiel’s wrist gets bent backwards painfully, and it keeps going until he can feel something inside snap. There’s a sharp pain, and Castiel can’t help but cry out. At Ephraim’s whim, Castiel is pulled away from the refrigerator and down to his knees, his injured hand still in Ephraim’s painful grip.

“But here you are now, hiding. Broadcasting waves of pain for anyone who can feel it, weak and human, when you’re needed the most as an angel.”

Ephraim squeezes and twists, sending a new flash of pain through the hand and wrist, causing Castiel to gasp breathlessly. “I can take all this pain away.”

Behind Ephraim, Castiel can see the kitchen door move. Right now, he can only hope it’s Dean, and makes sure to focus back on the angel threatening his life. Teeth clenched, Castiel hisses, “But I want to live.”

“Oh?” Ephraim seems amused. “As what? As a man? _For_ a man?” Just then, Dean rushes at Ephraim, an angel knife in hand. But as Dean is about to strike, Ephraim gestures with a flick of his wrist, sending him crashing into the work table, sending flour everywhere. Castiel cries out as Dean crumples in a heap.

“For someone who claims to want to live, you cling to this fragile, weak form that can be extinguished so easily. By becoming human, you’ve already chosen to die.” Ephraim’s hand that isn’t holding him in place, raises to hover in front of Castiel’s forehead.

Adrenaline surges through Castiel’s body, seeming to numb the sensation in his hand and wrist. From the side, he sees Dean slide the angel blade across to him. Just as a pink light begins to emit from Ephraim’s hand, Castiel reaches for the blade with his free hand, grasps it, and plunges it straight into Ephraim’s gut with as much force as he can muster.

Ephraim screams as white light emanates from his body, and Castiel remembers to look away and cover his eyes. The screaming seems to go on forever, until the glow behind his eyelids fades, and the empty body that once housed Ephraim collapses to the floor.

Ears ringing and spots dancing in front of his eyes, Castiel looks over to Dean, who is now uncovering his head from his arms, sprawled out on the floor. Carefully, Castiel cradles his injured wrist. It hurts, but he’s had worse, and Dean is his priority. Is he okay? Dean rolls onto his back and groans, Cas lets out a sigh of relief.

“You OK, Cas?”

“Yeah.” He’s not, the throbbing in his wrist insistent, but he will be. No need to make Dean worry. It’s the same hand that he cut, so wrapping it up can be excused for the bleeding.

They each slowly stand, and Castiel takes in the damage to the room. There’s flour everywhere, and the dough he’d prepped is now upended on the floor. Dean’s back and hair are dusted white, and he coughs as clouds of dust are raised when he pats himself down.

“We really made a mess here, huh?”

Castiel nods, and reaches for the upturned bowl of dough. “I’ll need to clean up by morning.”

“You mean _we’ll_ need to clean up by morning.”

What? “No, that’s not your responsibility, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Dean reaches for the body’s legs. “Help me cram this into the car.”

It’s a struggle to help carry the body out the door and down the hallway with only one usable hand. Castiel knows Dean has noticed, even though he’s not saying anything. With the body in the Impala’s trunk, Castiel goes back inside and gathers a broom, bucket and mop, as well as some cleaning rags.

Before he can get started, Dean ushers him to a stool, and gently lays Castiel’s injured arm on the table. It’s amazing to see Dean treat him so gently, the way he slowly unwinds the bloodied towel, how he probes the bruised and swelling flesh of his hand and wrist. He feels exhausted, the result of the adrenaline rush wearing off.

“C’mon, man. Let’s get this apron off, and your sleeve rolled up.” ‘

Dean helps him remove his apron, which he just now realizes is streaked with flour. The wig is loose, so Castiel removes it and tosses it down on the counter, and notices it’s got flour in it, too. He chuckles bitterly. “I must look as bad as you, huh?”

Dean’s mouth lifts in a half smile, and he glances up at Castiel’s face before focusing on rolling up the pink shirt’s sleeve. “Worse, I think.”

With a nod, Dean straightens up from where he was leaning over the table. “Be right back, I gotta get some things from the car.”

At the door, he stops and turns to Castiel, pointing at him. “And don't get attacked by any more angels while I’m gone, OK?”

Castiel give him a weak smile in return. “I’ll try, Dean.”

As soon as the door closes behind him, the phone rings. Groaning, Castiel gets up and grabs it, recognizing the number on Caller ID. “Hello, Jolene,” he answers.

“Just checking up on you. Everything going alright?”

He looks around the flour strewn kitchen, the bloodied refrigerator door. “Yeah, we were just cooking.”

“We? You still with your friend?” She stresses the word friend, like she’s expecting… Castiel isn’t sure what, but he’s too tired to parse it. Oh, there’s something he should mention, he thinks, staring down at his hand.

“I’m afraid I sprained my wrist today, I’m not sure how it will affect my performance tomorrow.”

“How bad is it?  Do you need some time off?”

“Oh, no… I think I’ll be fine if not a bit slow. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Honey, you’ve been my best worker since you started. Let me go see if I can get Isaac to cover for you tomorrow, and you were already scheduled to take the next day off, so I don’t see a problem.”

Dean’s at the kitchen door, a bag of supplies and bandages in one hand, the forgotten six pack of beer in the other. He raises his eyebrows in question, and Castiel props the phone against his shoulder, so he can use his good hand to press a finger to his lips requesting Dean’s silence. When he receives a nod, he turns his attention back to Jolene, who is saying something about getting back to his date.

“It’s not…” He can’t finish that sentence with Dean in the room.

“Well, I’ll make sure your shift is covered tomorrow regardless, so you get better, and if you get frisky, don’t forget protection.” That causes a furious flush to burn its way up Castiel’s face, and he can’t help but remember when Dean had used that word, not that long ago. He’d missed the meaning then, but not now.

“I’ll be careful.”

After exchanging goodbyes, he ends the call and sets the phone on the counter. The day has been way too long, and he still needs to finish cleaning up and get a shower before going to sleep. Shoulders slumped and head drooping, he stifles a yawn.

It’s hot in here, and he’s tacky with sweat. While Dean lays out bandages and salve, Castiel uses his good hand to unbutton the collar of his shirt and flap it for some air circulation. If he had the motivation, he’d go turn on the ventilation.

With gentle hands, Dean first smears antibacterial ointment on the cut in his palm, then bandages it. After that, he palpates around Castiel’s wrist, and mentions it might be broken, but it’s hard to tell. “We should get you a brace, just in case.”

Castiel is glad Dean is looking down at his wrist, because he can’t help the warm smile that pulls at his cheeks. The care Dean is using in his handling of Castiel’s injury makes him want to believe Dean cares. The blond wig catches his attention, and for a moment, he wonders what would have happened if he’d found a female vessel, like before. Would Dean have… No, he should stop that train of thought. His purpose had always been to protect the Winchesters, and any feelings of his own that might have developed are incidental.

Dean has stopped moving, his hands on either side of his now bandaged wrist on the table. Glancing up, Dean’s looking at him with concern. “Cas, you okay?”

“Hmm? I’m fine, just thinking.”

“Thinking too hard, if you didn’t hear my question.”

“Oh. Sorry, Dean. What was it?” Castiel usually isn’t this absent minded, and shakes his head to clear it.

Wrapping up some leftover gauze, Dean asks, “We need a pharmacy that will carry braces, and I think we both need to eat. This,” he waves his hand at the kitchen which still needs to be cleaned, “Can be taken care of after we’re fed, and you have something supporting your wrist.”

Castiel gets to his feet. “I really should try to—”

“Cas. Food. Drugstore. Then I’ll help you clean.”

Too tired to argue, Castiel nods and follows Dean to the back door. He makes sure to set the alarm, just in case. Inside the Impala, his lassitude fades a little, the leather seat and scent of the interior familiar. It’s while they're inside the drugstore, Dean fitting the brace right in the aisle, that Castiel realizes he never put his wig back on, but it will need cleaning since it’s now tangled and streaked with flour.

There’s a Biggerson’s right across the street, and Dean leads him there with enthusiasm. With negative memories attached to the restaurant chain, it’s not a place Castiel would normally go, but the location fits Dean’s requirements so Castiel keeps his own thoughts silent. Once inside, they’re led to a booth near the back. As soon as they’re seated, Dean flips open the menu and starts looking at the burger section. Castiel is surprised to find he’s not hungry. When he mentions this, Dean insists he order something, that as soon as he’s got food in front of him, he’ll eat.  

“Dean, you always order a burger. Why do you even bother to look at the menu?”

“Hmm?” Dean glances up, and the light above the table catches his eyes like crystal jade. “Because they’re always coming up with different things to put _on_ the burger, Cas.” He points to the menu. “This one here, it has avocado. Not my thing, but…” Pursing his lips, his eyes roam the menu and he points at something else. “This one has fried egg. Don’t think I want that either…” Dean’s voice trails off, absorbed by his choices once again.

There’s something so endearing about seeing Dean like this. He becomes almost childishly enthusiastic about food, and it doesn’t matter if he has monster guts in his hair, if he’s been driving across the country all day, or if he’s just woken up. Eating makes him happy. Dean glances up from the menu, and double-takes at Castiel.

“Uhh, you know what you want to order?”

Oh. He was staring again. Old habits are difficult to break. “N-no, still looking.”

“Buddy, if you haven’t made up your mind, I’m ordering for you.”

The thought of Dean ordering for him makes heat rise up the back of Castiel’s neck. There must be something wrong with him, because this is starting to remind him of dates he’s seen on television. Food. Yes, he really should eat something.

They both order burgers, Dean a big double bacon and cheese monstrosity with onions, and Castiel the one with avocado. Dean gives him a look when he does, but it’s good to try new things. While waiting for their food, it seems there’s not much to talk about that they can say in public surrounded by people, so Castiel leans back in his seat and tries to not look at Dean.

It’s strange. When he was an angel, silence was never a bother, and Castiel could easily go for days without speaking. Even when he was with the Winchesters, he was quite content to let their conversations flow around him, and not feel the need to contribute. But now, while he does enjoy moments of quiet, the silence between them feels… heavy. Dean sits across from him, fiddling with one of those folded paper advertisements for desserts. What can they talk about?

“How is Sam’s recovery?” That should be a safe topic.

Dean fumbles with the cardboard and places it back on the table, then hides his hands in his lap. “He’s, uh… he’s doing good.”

“I’m glad. He seemed well when…” How does he finish that sentence? A petty part of him wants to say, ‘when you kicked me out.’ But what good would that do? Dean will leave soon, and he wants to enjoy this time together.

Clearing his throat, Dean shifts his eyes to the side. “So you seem to be doing good here. Got a decent job, a place to stay, and a nice enough boss.”

Their food arrives, and they halt conversation in order to eat. Dean was right, his appetite returns when he actually has food in front of him. Soon, his burger is finished, and all that’s left on his plate are some bread crumbs, meat juice drippings, and a couple soggy fries. Dean leans back in his seat, adjusting the waistband of his pants. “That was awesome. How about some pie?”

Castiel blinks at him. “Here?”

“Yeah, what else—” Dean’s eyes widen in realization. “That’s right, there’s pie waiting for us back at your place.” A gleeful grin spreads across his face. “And beer.”

“And a messy kitchen you promised to help me clean.”

Castiel digs into his pocket for the few bills he brought with him to cover dinner. Dean wouldn’t let him buy the brace, but he’ll insist on paying for the meal. But as soon as he looks up, Dean’s already headed for the cash register, ticket in hand. He rushes to catch up, and tries to hand Dean some money. “I can pay for this.”

“Nah, I got it. Besides, you’re gonna pay me in _pie_.” Dean says it so enthusiastically, like a slice of pie will make up for all that he’s already done today.

 _Or maybe he’s trying to make up for kicking you out._ Castiel quickly squashes that voice in his head. He will not let his own insecurities ruin the rest of his time with Dean tonight.

Back at the cafe, Castiel offers Dean the rest of an apple pie that would have gone to the homeless center tomorrow otherwise. There’s more than half left, and he can practically see Dean drool. “Alright, let’s get this kitchen clean!” Dean cries with his fist in the air.

There’s not much Castiel can do other than wipe things down one-handed and hold the dust pan, but he does what he can to help Dean make the kitchen look presentable again. He’s sure they’ll be finding flour in the oddest places for a while still, but it no longer looks like a bag of flour exploded in here. Dean celebrates their accomplishment by getting the pie tin, two forks, and a couple of beers.

“Here’s to stopping the bad guys, Cas.”

They clink their bottles together, and Dean takes a long drink before digging into the pie. Castiel doesn’t take more than a couple bites and a sip of his beer, because it’s much later than he normally stays up, and he’s exhausted after everything that’s happened today. But of course, Dean’s accustomed to staying up late into the night, and appears to be just getting started. And of course Dean notices Castiel leaning heavily on the counter, his injured wrist in his lap.

“You need some painkillers, buddy? I have some in the car.”

“I’ve been awake since early this morning, and was expecting to open again tomorrow. I’m just tired.” He doesn’t mention the low throb in his wrist, he can take a pain reliever before going to sleep.

“Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry.” Dean’s mood deflates.

“No, Dean. It was good, this was good.” Castiel raises his beer, still mostly full.

“Yeah, and I still need to take care of the body in the trunk.”

“Mmmm.”

They sit there quietly for a moment, before Castiel rocks to his feet. “I would offer you a place to stay, but all I have is a hard tile floor in a narrow room with a small bed, so…”

“Yeah, I should get outta your hair, let you get some rest.” Dean’s mood turns pensive, his mouth a thin line.

The short trip to the back door is made in silence, and Castiel has to force himself to reach for the door handle. This is it, Dean’s leaving now. No more reason to keep him around. Taking a deep breath, Castiel pulls the door open, the orange street light illuminating them. Dean drags his feet across the threshold, and turns back to Castiel, his face now in shadow.

“Make sure you lock the door and set the alarm, okay?”

That causes a sad smile to flit across Castiel’s face. “Yes, Dean. I’ll make sure to lock up properly.”

They share a pregnant moment that stretches out, Dean facing him, Castiel trying to make out the expression on his shadowed face. He wishes he knew what to do, having no reference for how to deal with this.

Dean is the first to break the silence. “I mean it, I’m going to stand here and wait for you to tell me you’ve secured the entry.” He wiggles his phone in one hand.

Nodding, Castiel closes the door, turning the bolt to secure the lock, and enters the code for the alarm. Unable to withstand hearing Dean’s voice right now, he texts that it’s done instead of calling. He leans against the door and listens, and moments later the Impala roars to life. The sound of it fades and Dean pulls out onto the street, and away.

It’s with a heavy heart that Castiel gets ready for bed and lies there in the dark of his small room, thinking of Dean. Now is when all the thoughts he’d held at bay come crashing back to the front of his mind. Sleep takes too long to come, in spite of his exhaustion.


	3. Reciprocation

Castiel rarely, if ever, sleeps in. Even on days off, he always wakes up in the early morning, his body having adjusted to the store’s hours. As such, it catches him by surprise when he wakes up a little after 10 a.m.

With a groan, he accidentally tries to use his injured hand to push to a sitting position. There’s an employee’s bathroom with a small shower, but it’s attached to the kitchen, so Castiel gets dressed. Since he showered last night, all he needs to do is relieve himself, wash his face, and brush his teeth. Hopefully there will be some small task he can perform today, because he desperately needs to feel useful.

His wig still needs to be cleaned and combed out, so Castiel pulls on a cap and quickly dashes from the back hallway to the kitchen. As soon as he feels more presentable, he steps out into the kitchen to see Jolene pulling croissants out of an oven. Before he can say anything, she’s greeting him with one on a small plate, and disappears out the kitchen door to return moments later with a cup of regular coffee.

“You look like you could use this,” she says with a curious smile.

Castiel bows his head and thanks her, taking his first sip of hot coffee. He can tell she’s patiently waiting, as he stalls by tearing off a chunk of croissant and shoving it in his mouth. When he’s swallowed, he takes a deep breath and looks up at her. “I need to apologize for wasting baking ingredients last night, there was a mishap.”

She glances around the kitchen. “Well, you cleaned up pretty good. I guess that explains the sad state your wig is in then.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Castiel looks down at his croissant and tears off another chunk.

He’s chewing when Jolene leans closer and stage-whispers, “You didn’t have sex in here, did you?”

Castiel chokes, and Jolene pats him on his back as he coughs. As soon as he’s able to breathe again, he says, “No! No, we didn’t… Dean’s just… Why would you think that?!”

While he takes a sip of coffee, Jolene gives him an incredulous look. “I could tell you cleaned in here last night, plus the wig, and you hurt yourself.” She leans against the counter as she continues. “You had a _‘friend’_ come over who you obviously have some history with, and I can see the way you look at him. I still think he’s an ex, by the way. Of course I would think you were getting kinky in my kitchen!”

Castiel feels the horror of realization sweep over him. How could he possibly explain they killed an angel in here? “I— I would never! We… we didn’t—”

“It’s okay, honey. I believe you. And if you don’t want to tell me what happened, fine.” A buzzer goes off, and Jolene picks up a pair of oven mitts. “Is he coming by again today?”

A lump forms in the back of Castiel’s throat. “No, he left last night.”

Thankfully, Jolene stays quiet as she pulls a tray of loaves out of the oven. Castiel helps transfer the loaves to cooling racks before sitting back down to finish his croissant and coffee. While he’s washing his plate and cup, Bernie sticks his head in through the door. “Hey, Misha? There’s someone here to see you.”

There’s a moment of panic, when he thinks another angel has found him. Jolene takes a peek out the door, and turns around with a grin. “It’s your _friend, Deeean._ ”

What? Why would Dean still be… Castiel swipes a hand over his hair and face, anxiety rising. He needs a shave, his wig is… Jolene tells him she’ll have Dean meet him around back. Castiel is not ready for this, wasn’t expecting it, and sends her a pleading look.

“You look fine, the stubble gives you a rakish look.” She smooths down the shoulders of his t-shirt, one he’d just thrown on when he’d gotten out of the shower last night. He looks down and it’s one he picked up at a thrift store, with three wolves howling at the moon. At least it doesn’t have any holes.

“Now go.” She pushes him towards the kitchen’s back door which is on the side of the building, and makes her way through the door leading to the cafe.

Hands sweating, Castiel steps out the door and walks to where Dean had parked yesterday. He’s nervous, because he doesn’t understand why Dean might have stayed. Was there a problem with disposing the body? Was there another incident? Standing at the back of the building, he nervously wipes his hands on his jeans.

He hears Dean’s footsteps before he sees him, another coffee cup in hand and a croissant wrapped in wax paper in the other. Dean’s wearing a blue canvas jacket this time, over a red and white check shirt. Face lighting up with a smile, he ambles over and looks Castiel over.

“You don’t look worse for wear,” Dean says, taking a sip of coffee. “They gave me a fresh croissant, and said to meet you back here.”

Castiel swipes a hand through his hair. “Yeah, the wig still needs cleaning, so…”

“You can’t be ‘Misha’ today?” Dean gives a charming half-smile.

“Yeah.”

“Mmm.” Dean takes a bite of his croissant, and talks with his mouth full. “What do you normally do on days off?”

Leaning against the building, Castiel thinks. “Personal shopping, go to the library, walk around the lake?”

Nodding, Dean crams another mouthful of croissant. He actually takes the time to chew and get a sip of coffee this time. “You wanna maybe show me around, then?”

The question throws Castiel off balance, and he’d stumble if he weren’t leaning against the wall. “Dean, why are you still here? Is there something wrong?”

Dean ducks his head and shoves the last of his croissant in his mouth, mumbling something while wadding up the paper. Castiel waits, curious as he sees Dean’s shoulders scrunch up near his ears. After another long sip of coffee, he says, “Figured maybe I should hang around another day, just in case? He waves his hand with the crumpled paper at Castiel. “And, you know, keep an eye on your injury.”

Castiel’s chest swells with an unnameable happiness. Sure, it’s just to check on things, but Dean chose to stay. Feeling a flush of heat on his cheeks, he turns to look at the back fence of a property on the other side of the alley. “Okay, I can show you around,” he says shyly.

Castiel shows Dean where some of the thrift stores are. When asked why there are so many, he shares what he’s learned about the numerous resources, and increased homeless population in the area. Dean gets a bit pensive after that, but cheers up when Castiel finds a Metallica t-shirt on one of the racks.

It’s mid-afternoon when Dean asks where they should go eat. There’s one particular place that Castiel thinks Dean might appreciate, so he directs them back into downtown. Hoping Dean  doesn’t notice the place before they can get out of the car, Castiel tells Dean to look for parking. Thankfully, they find a spot about a block away, although Dean grumbles about having to shove quarters into the meter when Castiel insists.

“What? It’s not like they can take me to court. I’m officially dead, remember?”

Castiel mostly watches Dean’s face as they head for the intersection of Fourth and Sherman, and notices the moment that recognition hits. His eyes grow wide, mouth dropping open for a moment before he smiles. “Dude.” He turns to Castiel. “Really?”

Nodding, Castiel keeps them walking in the direction of the Moose Lounge. “Yes, Really.” Dean pulls out his phone, taking multiple pictures while Castiel grabs his arm when he almost walks into a pole. Castiel has never actually been inside before, and finds the interior cool and dark. Dean’s grin grows wider as he spots a moose head mounted on a wall, lights wrapped around the antlers.

“Sam’s _so_ getting sent a picture of this one.”

The bar is long and narrow, with square tables up front, small round tables along one side, the bar to the other side in the back. They choose the far end of the bar, in a corner. Dean orders a local beer on tap, and Castiel follow his example. Before looking at the menu, Dean sends Sam the picture of the moose head. “Dude, I don’t know what to order, what about you?”

Castiel looks up from the menu, the prices more than he’s used to. “I’m not sure. Maybe a salad?”

Frowning, Dean takes the menu from him. “You are _not_ ordering a salad. It’s bad enough Sammy does it.” He scowls at the menu. “Ah, I know.” He waves down the bartender and gets a combo platter and an order of cheese curds. Almost everything is fried. Before Castiel can protest, Dean counters, “The pickles are a green vegetable, plus there’s salsa and stuff with the taquitos. Chill, dude.”

Returning the menu to its place wedged between two napkin holders, Castiel follows Dean’s example by taking a sip of beer. It’s a different flavor from what they had last night, and a darker brew. Dean nods in appreciation, and looks around the bar some more. They definitely gave the interior a rustic, hunter lodge type of feel with the animal heads and fish, signs listing beers available in colored chalk, the red brick and deep green paint. With Dean at his side, Castiel relaxes on his bar stool and takes another sip from his mug.

When the food arrives, Dean eagerly samples all the offerings, and Castiel starts with a chicken taquito, dipped in salsa. It’s a little spicy, so he washes it down with some beer. The cheese curds are quite good too, especially with the creamy sriracha dipping sauce. Fried pickles, onion rings, barbecued pork, spicy chicken strips and fries, they make their way through the basket, and their pints. Dean orders them another round, and a shot of whiskey for himself.

As the grease-stained baskets are cleared away and their fresh drinks appear before them, Castiel’s phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s a text from Jolene, apologetically asking if he can come in tomorrow for Isaac, and work closing hours. He looks up to see Dean downing his whiskey with a grimace. Dean surely wasn’t planning on staying more than an extra day, was he? What can they possibly do in two whole days, anyway? Maybe it will be better if he gives Dean an excuse to leave, without it being too awkward. He quickly sends back that the shift change is fine, and looks up to see Dean ogling the phone out of the corner of his eye.

“Jolene asked me to change shifts. I’ll be closing tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Dean fiddles with the empty shot glass. “That means you won’t have all day tomorrow then.”

“Yes.” Unsure how to react to Dean’s tone (is that disappointment?), Castiel takes a long drink of his beer.

“I, uh, hope I didn’t mess things up for work with you because of the wrist.”

“What do you mean, Dean? You didn’t know that the Rit-Zien would come for me.”

“Yeah, but…” Dean turns on his stool to face him. “What if, because I took you to the crime scene, that triggered something?”

“No, Dean.” Castiel places a hand on his shoulder. “Ephraim would have found me regardless. At least this way, you were there. Otherwise, I might have—” Unable to finish that sentence, Castiel turns back to his beer.

“Yeah,” says Dean, taking another long drink and signaling the bartender for another shot.

They finish the last of their drinks, Castiel insisting that regardless of his tolerance, that Dean shouldn’t have any more. From just the two beers he’s had, Castiel is already quite tipsy. Everything is comfortably warm, his cheeks are flushed, and smiles come easy with every story and joke Dean tells.

“So… Cas,” Dean leans closer and Castiel reciprocates, bringing their faces closer together. “We can’t stay here all night, and it’s starting to get crowded.”

Castiel is fascinated with the golden glow of Dean’s eyes in this lighting. “Then what do you suggest?” he whispers.

Dean pulls away and bites his lip. “I think you need to sober up a bit. The lake’s just a block away, right?”

“Yes,” Castiel’s head bobbles. “And there’s a lovely park right there. I slept in the woods on the hill when I first arrived, it’s quite nice.”

What’s left of a smile fades from Dean’s face. No, Dean’s not supposed to be sad! “Dean, I’m sorry.” Castiel tries to stand and trips over his own feet, prompting Dean to catch him. “I promise I won’t talk about being homeless any more.” He shakes his head. “Nope, just happy things, like when Jolene taught me how to make chocolate chip cookies!”

Dean chuckles. Success! “Okay, Captain bar-fly. Time to walk it off.” He keeps a hold of Castiel’s arm as he pays for their drinks and food, and steers him out the door.

Castiel’s footsteps steady as they near the water, the fresh air and early evening sunlight helping to clear up his sluggish brain. He shows Dean the sign for the upcoming park renovation. They go down to the marina, watch a boat get pulled out of the water, and turn around at the beach because there are too many people.

As they make their way back to the car, Castiel wonders how long today is going to last. Is Dean going to drop him off and go? What kind of entertainment can he offer to get him to stay? It’s way too soon when they stop at the Impala, and Dean unlocks the doors.

“So, Cas, what’s there to do around here?”

This is what he was afraid of. He just doesn’t know. “I, uh, don’t usually…” Castiel stumbles over his words, staring back at Dean over the roof of the car.

Dean shakes his head and laughs, then tells him to get in the car. Leather creaking as they settle on the bench seat, Castiel wonders what he can offer Dean as entertainment. Then he remembers some advertisements he’s heard on the radio at night. Not that he wants to suggest this, but…

“Dean, there’s one place that… you might like to visit, although I’ve never been there.”

And of course, Dean perks up right away at that. “What is it, Cas?” He places a hand on the top of the backrest and leans toward Castiel.

“Er, it’s, um… State Line…” he whispers the next words, looking down at his hands in his lap, “Showgirls.”

He doesn’t look up, but he can hear the surprise in Dean’s voice. “Really, Cas? I didn’t think you were interested in those kinds of places.”

“Well, you do, so I thought…”

“Cas.” Dean’s voice with that one word is firm, and it draws his eyes up to meet Dean’s, who is looking at him firmly. “I’m not gonna go some place you don’t want to go.”

Oh. “I don’t have much of a life outside the cafe, Dean. It’s diffi—”

“How about you come by the motel?”

What? Did he hear that right? Eyes wide, Castiel looks at the man who is just now realizing what he said. Dean’s hand slips off the backrest, and he turns to face the steering wheel. “I mean, there’s cable. Maybe we can find a movie?”

Ah, that makes more sense. “I think that sounds enjoyable. I only have a small TV that receives local channels in my room.”

“Then that settles it,” Dean says with a slap to the steering wheel. He pulls the car onto Sherman and drives past the cafe, which is now closed. “Did you realize how many motels there are on this street alone, Cas?”

“Not particularly.” Castiel did notice a few, but most were out of his price range when he was looking.

“Yeah, the great thing is, the further you get from town, the cheaper they are.” He drives them past the places Castiel has become familiar with, and they start seeing interstate signs. Just before the onramp, Dean takes a right, and keeps going until they arrive at a quiet motel surrounded by pines. Even with the proximity to the interstate, it’s quiet.

Turning off the engine and silencing its rumble, Dean pulls they key out of the ignition and turns to Castiel. “I think this is one of the nicer ones I’ve stayed at for a while.”

Dean opens the door, and lets Castiel in first. The room is relatively tidy, minus the signs of Dean having been staying here. On the king size bed is a dark green cover with an abstract print in mottled white and light green. Dark wood furnishes the room, with a dresser and TV across from the bed, a small table and two chairs near the window, a mini fridge and microwave tucked into the corner. Clothes are piled up on a duffle near the bathroom, and some bottles and wrappers in the trash display Dean’s extended presence.

“So, uh, I have a mostly full bottle of whiskey and a couple of beers. You want something?” Dean asks while he unties his boots, his jacket already tossed over the back of a chair.

Castiel stares down at the one bed. Of course, it’s just Dean. But all hope of possibly falling asleep watching TV and staying the night evaporate at the sight. He’d grown accustomed to there being two beds when the Winchesters got a room. “No, I think I’ll be fine.”

“There are a couple of vending machines near the office. You mind grabbing me a rootbeer and bag of popcorn then?” Dean slips a couple of bills out of his wallet. “And anything you want, of course.”

Accepting the money, Castiel steps back out the door and finds the vending machines. He purchases a root beer for Dean, and a Sprite for himself. The snack vending machine is well stocked, and Castiel gets Dean’s microwave popcorn, a bag of pork rinds, and a package of licorice. Dean likes licorice. Back in the room, the air conditioner is chugging, and Dean is already propped up against the headboard on one side of the bed, bottle of whiskey on the side table next to two glasses. He waves the remote at Castiel as he carefully places the drinks and snacks on the comforter.

“Ooh, Licorice! You’ve got taste, my man.” Dean tears open the bag without a second thought. “You mind tossing the popcorn in the nuker?”

Castiel blinks. They’ve had this discussion before, microwaves don’t emit nuclear radiation. But it’s a colloquialism apparently, and he’s learned to not argue semantics with Dean about slang terms. After carefully reading the instructions, he places the packet into the device as shown, and sets the timer. The TV comes on while he watches the popcorn rotate, and Dean starts changing channels.

By the time the popcorn is done, but doesn’t smell burnt yet, Dean’s settled on an Indiana Jones movie. He hands over the unopened bag, and debates where he should sit. The table is too far away, and the edge of the bed would be awkward. Dean pats the pillow next to him. “C’mon, dude. Get comfy, but take your shoes off first.“

Slipping off his trainers and lining them up next to the bed, Castiel carefully settles himself against the headboard, making sure not to touch Dean. While Dean starts quoting movie lines, he hands Castiel one of the glasses from the nightstand. As soon as that one’s in Castiel’s hand, Dean never takes his eyes off the screen as he pours a measure of whiskey into the other glass, and tops it off with the root beer.

“You sure you don’t want any?” Dean asks, waving the bottle in his direction.

Maybe just a little. “Why not?” Castiel replies.

The whiskey is potent, and Castiel stops drinking once he runs out of soda. Dean drinks a sizeable amount, drinking it straight when his root beer is finished. The shared popcorn makes it halfway through the first movie, the licorice by the end of it. They share the pork rinds through the beginning of the second Indiana Jones movie, since it turns out the channel is running a marathon.

Castiel feels warm and happy, and he has to keep reminding himself he shouldn’t lean closer to Dean. During a commercial break, Dean splashes another measure of whiskey to his glass, and waves his hand for Castiel’s

“I really shouldn’t,” Castiel says, while thinking that Dean should stop as well, especially if he’s going to have to drive him home when this is over. But he knows better than to say anything.

“Aww, c’mon. Don’t make me drink alone.”

For some reason, that argument sounds perfectly feasible, so Castiel hands over his glass, to which Dean adds more than the usual measure. “You gotta catch up to me, you know.”

“I no longer have an angelic metabolism, remember?”

Grunting, Dean takes a sip from his glass. “Yeah, you were happy enough with two beers.”

They fall into a comfortable silence as the movie continues, Dean having stopped quoting so proliferately the more he drinks. Castiel feels himself grow more languid, and by the end of the movie, he’s slumped against the headboard, eyes drooping. Dean gives him a liquid smile, and takes the now empty glass from his hand. “Yeah, you’ve had enough for now.”

Castiel hums in reply. Only a few scenes into the third movie, Dean changes the channel. “Sorry, I, um, don’t feel like seeing that one right now.”

Even with the whiskey fuzzing over his brain, Castiel remembers it has to do with the protagonist’s missing father, and he can relate. “It’s fine, Dean. Let’s find something else.”

While Dean goes back to flipping through the channels, Castiel settles more comfortably in his spot, sliding down further on the bed. For a fleeting moment, he wonders what would happen if he just fell asleep here. Would Dean make him get up? Take him back to his own narrow bed at the cafe? Or, would he cover Castiel with a blanket?

These thoughts circle around his head, when Dean interrupts them by saying, “I, uh, I’m sorry for uh, you know. Telling you to go.”

Unable to muster up the energy to care at this point, Castiel shrugs.

Dean continues. “I know it’s been hard, but you’ve done well on your own, adapting. I’m proud.”

The channel is paused on a commercial for some kind of vegetable chopping device.

“Thank you, Dean.” A spike of pettiness flares through him. “Although it would have been better if I could have had some stability while learning to be more human.”

“Dude…” With a sigh, Dean puts down the remote and turns to face him. “OK, here’s the deal. The trials to seal Hell messed Sam up real bad. He— He almost died. Would've if I’d let him finish the third one.” He squares his jaw, a sign Castiel has learned that means Dean’s upset and doesn’t want to talk about it. But he keeps going. “He’s still really messed up.”

“How bad?” Sam seemed fine when they last met. “You said Ezekiel helped heal him.”

Dean looks away and takes another drink of whiskey. “Yeah, about that.” He tells Castiel that Ezekiel is still helping, and that it’s conditional on Castiel staying away from Sam and the bunker. It hurts, because he remembers being on good terms with the angel. But he supposes being responsible for the angels falling from their home has caused a change of heart.  Of course, Dean wouldn’t have a choice. Nothing matters more to him than his brother.

“It’s a good thing I’ve _adapted_ so well then,” Castiel replies with a bit of an edge.

Taking his glass from the nightstand, he waves his glass at Dean. “Gimme some more of that.”

Dean gives him a splash with a dubious look, but Castiel wobbily sits up and downs it. If he’s going to adapt, he may as well emulate the one role model with which he’s spent the most time. But the liquor has loosened his tongue, and there’s something he’s thought about off and on since he started wearing the wig, something brought to the front of his thoughts since last night. Staring at Dean, he asks, “If I had taken a female vessel, would we have had sex by now?”

Whiskey almost spills where Dean’s pouring it into his own glass. “Wh-what?”

“I mean, it didn’t take long with Anna, although she wasn’t really an angel at the time, I suppose.” Castiel tilts his head and squints. “But you did object to the whole vessel thing. Hmm…” Memories carry him back to that first year with the Winchesters. “Although the vessel was empty after Raphael exploded me. And Michael.” He sighs. “And the leviathan. Have I died as many times as you or Sam yet?” There was one more time… Oh yes. Pulling up his t-shirt, he stares at where there had been an angel blade sticking out of him, not a scar to show for it. “And we can’t forget April.” He wishes he could. She hurt him in more ways than one.

“So…” Castiel leaves his shirt rucked up and leans to one side, propped up on his elbow. “If I’d taken a female vessel, when would we have had sex?”

Dean turns away and takes a long drink from his glass. “Dude, does this have something to do with you wearing a wig and your boss dressing like a woman? I mean I don’t mind if a guy wants to cross dress, but—” Castiel slaps Dean’s thigh, _hard_.

“I’ve had enough of this transphobic language. I realize you don’t know any better, but Jolene is a _woman_. It doesn’t matter who or what she used to be. Yes, we took advantage of her status to change my look as well, few people bothering to comment when I changed to a more feminine appearance. But while I accepted a new name, I still consider this body male. I feel no need to take it any further than that.”

Castiel is sitting fully upright now, facing Dean, a small bit of that old righteous fury burning through him even while the world tilts on its axis. “But I can’t help the things I _want_ , Dean. No matter how much I realize I’ll never have them, the longing is still there.” He misses that feeling he used to get from Dean that almost made him feel wanted in return. Maybe not the same way, but it was some form of longing, wanting Castiel by his side. He misses that so much.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel asks again, “If I had taken a female body, would we have had sex?”

Dean blinks at him, whiskey glass loose in his grip. “I… I dunno, Cas. With you being the way you were? All uptight and _‘I don’t understand that reference’_ ,” he mocks. “You had a stick up your ass the whole time, and you even got us chased out of a brothel. How the fuck am I supposed to know?”

Dean gets up off the bed, setting his glass on the nightstand. Rubbing a hand through his hair, he scrubs at his face and mumbles something. It sounds like he said something about Castiel, who gets up on his knees, albeit wobbly.

“What was that, Dean?”

Letting out a defeated sounding sigh, Dean’s shoulders droop, and he turns halfway to Castiel “I’d’ve done you as you are, Cas,” he whispers.

Crawling to that side of the bed, Castiel nearly topples over reaching for Dean’s arm to pull him closer. Does he dare believe what Dean just said? “Please, say it once more so I can hear you?”

He looks up into Dean’s eyes, shadowed in the dim light of the room. His heart is thudding wildly, and he can feel Dean trembling under his hand, which might be grasping his shirt sleeve a bit too tightly, but he dare not let go. Dean reaches up with his free hand, and cups Castiel’s chin.

“You wouldn’t have to be a girl, Cas. I’d do you anyway.” He says it almost flippantly, like he’s trying to make a joke. But Castiel’s seen this before, the way Dean deflects.

At that moment he makes a decision, and doesn’t care about the consequences. Leaning up, he pulls Dean into a kiss. It’s not much more than their lips mashed together, but it sets Castiel’s body alight, buzzing with something he can’t even hope to define. Nothing else exists but this moment. Eventually, it registers that Dean isn’t pulling away. Instead, his hand has slid back into Castiel’s hair.

Castiel pulls back, sitting on his heels, and he lets out a breath with a whoosh. This was not what he expected. Maybe for Dean to pull away, but not for the kiss to have lingered. His lips still tingle. Dean stands there, staring down at his hands, his breathing ragged. Is this when Dean will finally reject him? Say it was a mistake, that it was all a joke? The warmth from the whiskey suddenly becomes a chill, and Castiel feels the need to leave Dean’s room right now, before he can hear the rejection.

Flipping around on the bed, he crawls over to the other side and reaches for his shoes. Should he put them on here, or just leave first? Before he can get much further with that thought, There’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Cas, what—”

“If I leave before you reject me, it won’t hurt as bad,” Castiel blurts.

Arms wrap around him from behind, trapping his arms. “I’m not gonna reject you, Cas.”

 _Please let this not be some cruel joke_. Something inside of Castiel loosens, and he slumps against Dean, his shoes dropping back to the floor. “But you’ll go back to Lebanon, and leave me here.”

Dean’s head rests against his, and he can feel breath warm the back of his neck as Dean speaks. “I promise, Cas. As soon as Sam is better, if you want to, the bunker can be your home, too.”

 _Don’t make promises you can’t keep_. Castiel knows, better than anyone, that there’s always the next crisis, something always looming on the horizon. He’s just a human now, and of no use to the Winchesters as he is, regardless of Dean’s affirmations to the contrary. Just another mouth to feed, someone else to get hurt. Moisture wells up in Castiel’s eyes, and his breath hitches as he tries to not cry.

 _Please let me have this_.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean’s voice next to his ear makes him shiver.

“For tonight… Just for tonight, I want for us to be more.” Dean makes a noise and starts to pull away, but Castiel holds onto Dean’s arms, keeping them wrapped around him. “I don’t care if you leave tomorrow and never look back. Just let me have this.” The last words come out as a whisper.

He has no illusions that this will be anything meaningful. Just a night like any other, when Dean might find a willing body to take to his room. If they turn off the lights, maybe Dean won’t mind the lack of breasts and presence of male anatomy. But he needs this, this one thing to cling to. This one thing with Dean.

“Cas, you’re drunk.”

“That may be true, but it doesn’t change the fact that I want this, that I _have_ wanted this.” He’s not sure when he realized his love for Dean went this deep, but whatever happens tonight, he’ll have no regrets.

Dean manages to get one of his arms free of Castiel’s grip, and turns his head to face him. “If I do anything you don’t like, you’ll tell me to stop?”

“Other than stop, what could you possibly do that I wouldn’t like?”

Dean’s head lands on Castiel’s shoulder, and he huffs. “You know what happens with two guys, right?”

“I understand the mechanics as well as the biological aspects.”

Dean bursts into laughter and pulls Castiel onto the bed sideways. “You’re a weirdo.”

“Apologies?”

“Nah.” Dean repositions them so Castiel is on his back, Dean leaning over him. “I like it.” Then he leans forward and kisses him.

Castiel is in a state of disbelief at this point. It’s a beautiful state; Dean is kissing him. Lips part and tongues become involved, and Castiel melts into the mattress. It’s everything and nothing he could ever expect, Dean’s skill as a lover coming out into play. Hands touch him, at first through denim and cotton jersey, then on bare skin. Everything is enveloped in a haze of warmth and bliss, and Castiel gives up trying to think.

This is Dean, here with him, present and making him feel… he has no words. Perhaps long poems written in a language long forgotten by human tongues could describe how he feels. But for now he abandons words in favor of pure sensation. Skin on skin, his own hands wandering and touching Dean, feeling parts of him he’d reconstructed years ago. New scars are traced, they taste the sweat from each other’s bodies. Their actions become more heated, frantic as they embrace each other.

Rocking together, their lengths encircled in Dean’s grip, Castiel clings to him through the wave and crash of his orgasm. Dean soon follows, his breath fast and hot against his neck, everything warm and wet between them. The weight of the man he loves presses down as Dean’s arms give out, and Castiel holds onto him, the last shudders of orgasm fading into a drowsy state. It’s like this, in what he feels is the perfect moment, that Castiel falls asleep.

~~~

Wakefulness comes slow the next morning. There’s a persistent throbbing in his head, and he’s facing a thin shard of light that makes him want to keep his eyes closed. Rolling over, Castiel realizes that he is not in the narrow bed back in the cafe. No, this one smells like Dean. He remembers watching movies, drinking, and what happened after. Still naked he realizes, his hand trails across his abdomen, but the evidence of last night has been wiped away, his boxers back in place.

With a sigh, Castiel pries one eye open. That thin shard of light is from a part in the curtain, and reveals enough to show that he’s in Dean’s motel room, alone. There are no sounds in the room or bathroom to lead him to believe that Dean is anywhere other than gone.

Closing his eyes, he presses his face into the pillow. He asked for this. Dean leaving shouldn’t cause this pain in his chest, but it does. It’s still early enough, maybe he can wallow in his guilt and pain for a while, then get up and take a shower before he’s kicked out of the room and has to make the trek back to the cafe before his shift. Arms sliding against the cool underside of the pillow, he presses his face firmer against it, the pressure somewhat alleviating the pain in his head. He’s also still wearing the brace, and his wrist reminds him of that injury as well. When he admits he needs to breathe, Castiel turns his face to the side, away from the annoying light.

He’s halfway to drifting back asleep when he hears a key in the lock. It’s too early to get kicked out by management, isn’t it? The door opens and closes, the crinkle of a bag as it’s placed on the table. There’s the sound of someone drinking coffee. He knows that sound well.

Holding his breath, Castiel is afraid to look. Is it possible that Dean’s back? That he didn’t leave? The bed dips, and a warm body sprawls across him. Dean lets out a satisfied hum, and Castiel breathes again. Or at least as much as he can with the weight of a fully grown Dean Winchester pressed against him, nuzzling the back of his head.

“Dean,” Castiel grates out, “You’re here.”

“With breakfast.” Shifting so that he’s not lying entirely on Castiel, Dean’s chin digs into his shoulder. “The coffee’s not as good as the cafe, but it should be enough to help start on the hangover you probably have.”

Now more awake, Castiel becomes aware of an urgent need. “Bathroom.”

Laughing as light as air, Dean rolls off of him, and takes the blanket with him.

Once having relieved himself and washed his face, Castiel feels less like something not quite alive. Exiting the bathroom, he finds Dean at the table, sliding a coffee cup toward the other seat, where a wrapped sandwich is waiting. “The diner up the street has these kick-ass grilled sourdough sandwiches.” Dean starts unwrapping a second one. “Egg, sausage, cheese, _and_ bacon.”

It seems a bit excessive to Castiel, but he sits down and accepts his coffee. Like Dean said, it’s not as good as what they make at the cafe, but it should wake him up. While he’s unwrapping his sandwich, Dean slides over a bottle of pills.

“For your head, or your wrist. If either still hurt.”

Castiel takes two, swallows them down with coffee, and starts on his sandwich. Dean’s right, the sandwich _is_ very good. Neither man says much else while they eat, or look directly at each other, and Dean even slows down when his sandwich is almost finished, as if he’s avoiding whatever happens next. While Castiel chews the last of his sandwich, he wonders if this is when Dean will tell him that last night was a mistake. He watches as Dean finishes, wipes his mouth, and clears his throat as he rolls the napkin into a ball.

Dean opens his mouth, but Castiel blurts, “About last night,” which doesn’t keep Dean from saying, “Look, Cas—”

“No, Dean. I need to say this.” Castiel knows he needs to say it before he loses his nerve.

“I don’t regret last night. If that’s all that ever happens, because if you do regret it, that’s fine. I will never speak of it again, if that’s what you wish.”

Dean’s sitting across the table, blinking at him, looking a little stunned. He clears his throat again, shifts in his seat. “Huh. I was kinda gonna give you a whole speech about mistakes made while drinking, and how if last night didn’t mean anything to you, I’d be willing to not mention it. Haha.” He grins sheepishly.

Castiel lets out a laugh in a burst, shaking his head. Dean always manages to surprise him. Then it sinks in, that Dean never mentioned how _he_ felt about last night. Worrying the edge of the coffee lid with a fingernail, he glances up at Dean. “Do you? Regret it, I mean.”

He holds his breath.

“What? No, I, uh…” Dean ducks his head, the next part coming out muttered softly. “I don’t.”

Letting his breath out in a whoosh, Castiel stares at Dean while his head feels like it’s being filled with a light gas, and that it might float off his shoulders. Never did he expect Dean to say… or do… No, he can’t handle this, it’s too much. Castiel tries to press his hands to his face, but the one in the brace is just awkward, so he covers his eyes with one hand, just to block things out for a bit.

“Cas? Are you okay?”

“Just give me a minute, it’s a lot to process.”

“Uh, did I upset you?”

No, it’s just…” Dean just won’t stop, will he. Castiel takes a deep, slow breath. “I always thought it was one-sided.”

“Oh.”

Thankfully, Dean stops speaking for a moment, although Castiel can hear him shuffling in his seat and take another sip of his coffee. A couple more slow, deep breaths, and Castiel drops his hand, opening his eyes to see Dean chewing on his lip, trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Thank you, Dean. I’m better now.”

“Yeah. So…” Dean looks at his watch. “When do you have to be at work?”

“Isaac usually comes in at noon to help with the lunch rush to close.” Castiel looks for the alarm clock motel rooms always have, and it says the time is currently 9:18. “When is checkout?”

“Uh, I think 11 or noon?”

“Ahh.” So little time left. “I would like to use the shower, if you don’t mind.”

Dean’s eyes widen, and his pupils seem to dilate. “Sure, great, have at it. Water pressure’s decent, lots of hot water.” Dean stands up and doesn’t seem to know where to put his hands. “You feel free to uh, use whatever I’ve got. I’m, ahh…” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Just gonna go see about getting an extra towel.”

Smiling at Dean’s odd behavior, Castiel thanks him and watches as he fumbles with the doorknob and backs out the door, saying he’ll be right back. It’s not often he sees Dean flustered. Now if he only knew why. Castiel stands, thinking now is a good a time as any for a shower, and it’s not until he’s in the bathroom that he finally realizes he’s only wearing his boxers.

The shower on and the water warm, the last of the tension in his shoulders melts away under the spray. Dean was right, the pressure isn’t as good as the bunker, but better than many of the places he’s been. He uses the small bar of complimentary soap and starts washing. Careful of his injured wrist, he uses his other hand, and idly watches the suds rinse down the drain.

Thoughts of last night filter in, and he remembers Dean tracing the Enochian warding on his abdomen with his tongue. Tendrils of heat at the memory wash through him, and he idly brushes across the tattoo with his thumb. Memory may be all he has of Dean for some indeterminate time, and now he wishes he hadn’t had so much to drink, much of what they did not much more than a memory of intense sensations and emotion. He dunks his head under the shower to clear away the melancholy thoughts beginning to surface.

A knock on the bathroom door makes him jump. “Cas?”

That’s right, Dean went to get towels. “Yes, Dean?”

The hinges squeak. “Mind if I come in?”

“Go ahead.” Castiel suddenly feels self-conscious of his nudity with Dean in the room, in a way he never had before around others, such as at the shelters. He holds still, listening to the extended shuffling he can hear over the sound of the water. Why is it taking so long to deliver a couple of towels? This question is answered when Dean peeks his head around the curtain.

“You mind sharing?” Dean asks, looking hopeful with his eyebrows raised.

Castiel glances around the enclosed space. It’s not incredibly large, but he supposes there could be room if they’re careful. Moving toward the back, he gestures Dean in. Grinning, Dean slips inside and ducks under the shower, splashing the water around until he’s all wet. Castiel can’t help but stare, taking in as much of the sight of Dean as he can. He’d always thought Dean was beautiful, and he still is, his strong, muscular body slightly soft in places, the cut of his hips, the curve of his legs.

“Enjoying the view?” Dean asks, lips twisted in a sly smile.

“Yes.” Castiel can feel heat rising up his chest and neck, but continues to blatantly stare.

Dean’s expression changes to something reminiscent of last night, and he takes the opportunity to look at Castiel’s body as well. “C’mere, you’re gonna get cold hiding in the corner.” He reaches out a hand.

“But there’s not much room,” Castiel argues, as Dean pulls him towards the front.

“That’s why we gotta get closer then,” Dean counters, pulling Castiel’s injured hand up so that arm will rest on his shoulder, another hand snaking around Castiel’s waist; he finds they are standing pressed close, bodies flush together, with the water cascading over both their shoulders.

Dean’s arousal presses against his own length, and Castiel shudders, his eyes fluttering closed as their foreheads touch. “Too much?” asks Dean, loosening his grip.

“No,” replies Castiel, leaning back enough so he can look, his good hand raking through Dean’s wet hair. “Just unexpected.”

Dean leans forward and captures his mouth. Castiel opens his lips for Dean’s tongue, and he wonders if he will ever grow accustomed to the pleasure of kissing him, holding him close. This time is different, less about exploration and more after chasing mutual satisfaction before the hot water runs out. It’s difficult to remain steady on his feet when Dean touches him just so, and he clings desperately as their pleasure is wrought by deft hands.

They’re both panting, the taste of each other lost to the spray of water, hips slip-sliding together with their mutual rhythm, one of Dean’s hands guiding Castiel’s hips. “Cas,” Dean breathes into his ear, “Touch me, _please_.”

Unlocking his good hand from around Dean’s shoulder, Castiel slips it down Dean’s chest, to where Dean is gripping their lengths tight. He takes over the action, and Dean shudders, nipping at Castiel’s shoulder with a moan. He’s so close, breathing erratic, heart pounding in his chest; and when Dean reaches lower to cup his sac, it’s as if he explodes, sparks flashing behind his eyes as it grows slicker between them, his hips losing their rhythm.

“Don’t stop,” Dean whines, fingers digging into the flesh of Castiel’s ass as he chases his own release, which he finds soon after.

Dean leans his head on Castiel’s shoulder, away from the spray, and Castiel rests his head against Dean’s, catching his breath. He closes his eyes and devotes this moment to memory. However many nights they spend apart, he wants to have this always. The water is starting to cool, so they hurriedly soap and rinse, grinning at each other the whole time.

While Castiel borrows a razor and some shaving cream to remove his scruff, Dean finishes drying off in the shower stall. He watches Castiel wipe away the last of the cream from his freshly shaved face and says,  “A smile looks good on you.”

A blush heats Castiel’s cheeks and he looks away, but Dean doesn’t relent. “I mean it, man. You never smiled that much as an angel, and I used to think you hated getting stuck with us… with me.”

“Dean, you know that’s not true.”

“I dunno,” Dean scrubs a towel through his hair. “I can think of a few times when I know you weren’t particularly happy with me, and at least once when you threatened to throw me back into Hell.”

That hits its mark, the good mood fading. “Things were different then, I was different.”

“Shit, I’m sorry Cas. I didn’t mean…” Dean pulls on a t-shirt. “Way to go, Winchester. Come here.” He wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist. “Does it help if there were times I got irritated at you too?”

“Not particularly,” is what Castiel says, but it does seem to ease his mind a little. Strange how that works.

“We’re a couple of pieces of work, huh, Cas?”

Not knowing how to answer that, Castiel kisses Dean on the lips. One kiss turns into two, then three, and then they’re exploring each other’s mouths with their tongues again, holding each other close. It’s Dean who backs away, hands on Castiel’s shoulders. “If we keep that up, we’re never getting out of here.”

For a moment that doesn’t sound bad at all, and then Castiel realizes he’s needed at work before too long. He grunts to express his displeasure, pouting at the loss of Dean’s mouth on his. How is he going to survive without this, now that he knows what he’s been missing all this time? Dean apparently finds him funny, and laughs.

“Let’s get dressed, we don’t have too long before checkout, now.”

Dean loans him a pair of boxer-briefs, which fit differently from the loose boxers he’s used to. He also offers Castiel a fresh t-shirt, “Just so you have something clean to wear right after your shower.” Castiel notices Dean’s gaze linger on the wolves shirt he wore yesterday.

“Do you want this shirt, Dean?” Castiel asks, holding it out.

“What?” Dean’s eyes widen, making him look childish. “Oh, I, uhh…”

Castiel remembers something he’d overheard one of his customers talking about, having to do with wearing her boyfriend’s shirt. At first, it didn’t make sense, but now that he’s wearing one of Dean’s shirts, he’s carrying the scent of Dean with him. Lifting the wolf shirt to his nose, he can smell alcohol and sweat. “I’m afraid this one is dirty, I can get you a clean one—”

“It’s cool, Cas! I’ll just… hold onto it, and we can trade back next time we see each other.” The edges of Dean’s ears are red, and he grabs the shirt, wadding it up and cramming it in his duffle bag before Castiel can object. It seems Dean still has trouble being honest, and Castiel holds back a smile.

Once dressed, Castiel helps make sure Dean doesn’t leave any tools of the trade behind, and he waits by the Impala while Dean checks out. When they’re both in the car, engine idling, Dean turns to him and asks, “It’s still early, anything you need to do before work?”

There are a couple things Castiel could use from the store, and he normally doesn’t get to travel to the larger superstores except on his days off. Except this time he spent his day off with Dean. With the Impala available, Castiel can also buy more than usual, not having to carry it all home himself.

They spend the rest of what’s left of the morning buying groceries and picking up a few toiletries. Dean insists on buying Castiel a _‘nice razor’_ and some refills after he sees Castiel get a package of the cheapest single-blade disposables available. “Trust me, these will last longer, and your face will be smoother.”

“But you use the cheap disposables, Dean.” Castiel tries to wrap his mind around his logic. Wait, now that he thinks about it, while Dean keeps a disposable razor in his kit, he usually uses an electric trimmer.

“Yeah, well it’s only when I’m on the road. There’s an old, really nice straight razor I found at the Bunker. Might start using it, if you get tired of beard burn.”

Happiness swells in Castiel’s chest at the thought of Dean making plans to accommodate his wishes back at his home. And while Castiel has enjoyed the rough texture of Dean’s stubble, the thought of touching Dean’s clean shaven face sends a tingle through him. He imagines standing close to Dean, spreading shaving cream across his cheeks, being allowed to drag a razor across his skin, Dean’s neck exposed as a sign of trust— “Cas!”

Oh. They’re still standing in the middle of the shaving goods aisle. Slightly embarrassed that he got caught up in his own imagination, Castiel follows Dean to the next aisle. When they exit the store, Castiel is surprised that he has only purchased a few bags worth of items. It all might be uncomfortable to carry on the bus, but will easily be one trip from the Impala to the back door of the cafe.

Dean plays the radio on the way back to the cafe, and as they get closer, the impending separation weighs heavier on Castiel, his mood growing somber. The Impala parks behind the cafe, and when Dean shuts off the engine, the interior is stifling in its silence. Castiel reaches for his hand and holds on tight. “I don’t want you to go, Dean.”

“I wanna haul your ass back to the bunker with me,” Dean replies.

They both let out a short, shad chuckle. “Aren’t we a pair,” Dean says, squeezing Castiel’s hand.

“But we are?” Castiel looks into his eyes. “A pair?”

“Look.” Dean turns in his seat to face him. “I don’t have the best track record, but I’m sure as hell gonna try.”

Nodding, Castiel looks at their joined hands. “Me too.”

Dean pulls him into an awkward hug, patting him on the back. “If your wrist doesn’t get much better, go to a clinic or something, have it checked out.”

Castiel nods into his shoulder, hands balled into the canvas of his jacket, not wanting to let go. This is a good place, and he wishes Dean could stay, bring Sam with him too. But that’s not their lives, never will be. It won’t be Castiel’s either, unless he’s willing to let go of Dean. He was ready to before, but now he can’t imagine it.

Dean says into his ear, “You need _anything_ Cas, you message me, or call. Whenever you want.”

“I will, and you as well.”

Pulling back, Dean looks him in the eye. “I mean it, anything.” They stare at each other a moment, and then Dean gives him a peck on the lips. “Go on. The longer we sit here, the harder it is to go.”

Castiel gathers his shopping bags, and closes the Impala’s door. Dean’s gripping the wheel tightly, frowning. When he sees Castiel lean to look in through the window, he gives a little wave, which Castiel returns. There’s an awkward moment where Castiel stands there with his armload of groceries, eyes locked on Dean’s through the car’s window. But then Dean blinks, gives him a small smile, and starts her up. With a final nod, he backs out of the parking spot and drives away.

Standing there a moment until he’s sure he can’t hear the Impala’s engine anymore, Castiel goes through the kitchen side door and puts away his groceries before slipping into his room to prepare for work. Jolene has brushed out his wig, and it’s sitting on its styrofoam head on a little table he’d found in a thrift store. Once he’s ready, Castiel picks up his phone and considers sending Dean a message. But he just left, and is going to be driving for several hours at least, so Castiel slips the phone into a pocket and starts his work day.

If Castiel is honest with himself, part of him expects that he won’t hear from Dean again for a long time. So it’s surprises him when he gets a message around 6 p.m. from Dean saying he’s stopped to eat. Smiling, Castiel stirs the pot of noodles boiling for his evening meal. He arranges the jar of sauce, the empty pasta box, and takes a picture with the pot in the background, steam rising from it. The picture is attached to a message:

_'Wish I could share this with you'_

He’s pouring the noodles into a colander when his phone beeps, telling him there’s a new message. There’s a picture of a burger, a bite taken out of it, sitting on its wrapper. A container of fries and the bottom of a drink cup are off to the side. _Warrior’s food_ , is the reply.

Halfway through his bowl of pasta, his phone rings. It’s Dean. He quickly swallows his mouthful, and answers. “Dean? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, Cas. I’m fine.” Castiel can hear the Impala’s engine. “Still driving, and needed some company.”

A warmth fills Castiel’s chest at the thought of Dean wanting him for company. “Where are you now?”

“Just past Big Timber, about 80 miles from Billings.”

Without a map, Castiel isn’t quite sure how far away that is, so he hums in acknowledgement. “Are you going to stop for the night, or do it all in one go?”

There’s a shuffling noise on the other end. “Not sure yet, I’ll decide when I’m in Wyoming.”

Castiel pokes at his cooling pasta with his fork. “Just don’t push yourself too hard.”

“Dont,” Dean says in a plaintive tone.

“Don’t what?” Castiel takes a bite of pasta.

“Don’t turn into someone who’s going to spend all their time worrying about crap.”

Sighing through his nose, Castiel chews quickly and swallows. “I always worry about you, Dean.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t _tell_ me about it before.”

Oh. Has Castiel already made a subconscious shift in the way he acts towards Dean?

“Yes, well I suppose a change in one’s relationship will alter the dynamic.”

“Christ.” There’s  a noise, like wind blowing across the microphone. “Look, Cas. I don’t do well with the whole… relationship thing, okay? Can’t we just act like we always do?”

Stabbing at his pasta again, Castiel smiles bitterly. “Since when have we ever spent this long on the phone together while not talking about a case?”

“Right, yeah. But still, Cas. Just give me some time to get used to this? Please?”

“Of course, Dean.”

They stay on the phone together while Castiel finishes his pasta, and he puts it on speaker while he washes his few dishes. They don’t really talk about much else, and just keep each other company. Castiel mentions that his wrist is feeling better, and the brace helps him be able to work, since making drinks isn’t very labor intensive. Dean complains about other drivers, talks through how far he can go on what’s left in the gas tank, and debates different routes back to the bunker.

While Dean is spewing swear words at a driver with their high beams on, Castiel’s phone beeps. The battery is getting low, since he didn’t plug it in last night. “Dean, my phone is running low on power, so I should probably go.”

“Yeah. You gotta work in the morning?”

“Yes. I won’t be helping with as much of the prep, but I will work the opening shift.” The phone beeps again.

“Then I’ll let you go. Need to stop for gas soon anyway. Talk to you later?”

“Yes, Dean. We’ll talk later.”

“Yeah, so, uhh… bye.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Castiel disconnects the call, a bubble of happiness swelling in his chest. That was probably the longest conversation they’ve ever had before, and it wasn’t even about anything important. He prepares for bed, hoping Dean is safe tonight. Doublechecking that the charger is securely in place, Castiel sets his phone next to his bed and slips under the covers. Folded next to is pillow is the shirt he borrowed from Dean this morning. It still smells of him.

The next day, he gets another message from Dean: _Stopped to sleep, back on road now._ He’s glad Dean’s being safe, even if he most likely slept in the car for a couple of hours.Before lunchtime, he receives another: _Made it home, found Sam like this_. Attached is a picture of Sam sleeping at a table, his face resting on an open book. It puts a smile on Castiel’s face.

Over time, they share small moments like this, short messages, and daily calls. It’s not as much as either of them would like, but they get by. If Castiel is feeling insecure, Dean is but the touch of a button away.

One day, Castiel gets a message that they’re headed to upstate New York for a case, and to not worry if he doesn’t hear from Dean for a couple of days. How is he supposed to not worry, wondering if Dean and Sam are safe during a hunt?

He’s relieved to finally hear from Dean again a few days later. He seems a bit withdrawn, and says that it’s a story for another time, that he had to deal with some issues from his past. It’s frustrating, but Castiel knows Dean, and pushing the issue won’t help, but he does get a promise to discuss it later. But it’s always later, and Castiel misses Dean, wants to be able to see him.

There’s another hunt with Jody, their sheriff friend in Sioux Falls. Dean withdraws even more after this one, and refuses to discuss the case at all. It’s awkward. Castiel wishes more than anything he could see Dean face to face, because he has a feeling something happened that Dean feels guilty about. While he doesn’t have a jealous nature, Castiel can’t help but wonder if Dean is losing interest. After all, what can Castiel offer him from over a thousand miles away?

When Castiel sees the news about the massive slaughter at a bar in Wyoming, he hasn’t seen Dean in over two months, almost three. The shirt he’d borrowed has stopped smelling like Dean for some time, and they no longer message each other daily. Their phone calls are even more infrequent. Castiel messages Dean, asking if he’s heard about the incident in Wyoming, which is obviously angels, and if he’s free, to call.

His phone rings a few minutes later, and he suddenly feels nervous. When he answers, Dean immediately tries to convince him to not get involved. “But they’re angels, Dean. I can help.”

“And in case you forgot, you’re not one any more, Cas. Me and Sam can take care of this one.”

“But this is my fault, Dean. They’re still my family and I want to help. Can I really afford to sit this one out?”

Eventually, he gets Dean to reluctantly agree. Jolene has been trying to get Castiel to take more time off, and he has a couple days in a row coming up, so he tells her there’s a family emergency. It’s a partial truth. She drives him to the same gas station where he decided to stop in town for a while.

Castiel smiles when he gets on the bus headed for Wyoming, knowing he’s going to see Dean again.


End file.
